


MRMR1: My Roof, My Rules

by disingenue



Series: My Roof, My Rules [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: ADHD Lexa, Artist Clarke Griffin, Autistic Lexa, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Business Suit Lexa, Clexa, Cranky Clarke, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Lexa is Neurodivergent, Modern AU, Modern Setting Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Neurodiversity, No Lesbians Die, Oral Sex, Overachieving Clarke, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pottymouth Clarke, Protective Lexa (The 100), Strap-Ons, The 100 - Freeform, Tribadism, Useless Lesbian Lexa (The 100), Vaginal Fingering, no beta we die like ben, soft clexa, tw: panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 62,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue
Summary: Welcome to my COVID lovechild, born of excruciating boredom and hours spent in reflection of TV shows that really hit close to home for me. Come and enjoy. Drop a comment if you feel like it. I actually will go off feedback insofar as what you guys are curious about and what characters/topics/relationships you are curious to see explored in this modern AU.When SkyCrew relocates to the big city, Clarke finds herself subjects to the whims and laws of a concierge who takes her job VERY seriously. Friction and eventually feels ensue. Rated M for later chapters.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: My Roof, My Rules [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880779
Comments: 265
Kudos: 731





	1. Unauthorized Parking

Now that it was actually happening, Clarke felt giddy with excitement. Working downtown. A big step up from the stale industrial complex the SkyCrew Arts and Design Department had been housed in. Craning her head up as she drove, Clarke took in all 36 floors of the shining glass tower. Suited concierges strode about the plaza like dapper penguins. Cute. At the very tip top, a backlit sign read ARC. The technologies company had bought out SkyCrew, the up and coming game developer and moved them into their corporate headquarters in Polis. The departments had been migrating over one by one over the months, with Arts and Design last in line to move into their newly renovated space. She had toured it. It was pretty slick. The kind of office where the company strove to make their workforce less depressed and more willing to live at work by incorporating indoor gardens, beer fridges and therapy dogs into the office. A car horn jolted her out of her reverie and she slowed to let a driver in front of her.

"Asshole," she muttered as she glanced to her GPS. Driving downtown was going to take some getting used to. Flipping her blinker on, she pulled into the alleyway, realizing that her success in finding her new office had given way to a new problem: finding parking. Creeping down the alley, she was met with vast stretches of parking prohibited curbs. A horn blared behind her, ratcheting her anxiety. She glanced into the mirror to the delivery van behind her. "Oh, fuck off."

Like a port in a storm, her eyes lit upon a loading bay-- and in it were parked the movers. There was a spot right beside them. Flipping her blinker on triumphantly, she pulled in next to them. Perfect parking. Killing the ignition, she hopped out of the car, planting a hand on the hood as she rushed to greet two men tottering onto the dock, carrying a life-sized replica of a post-apocalyptic guerilla fighter from one of their most successful series of games.

"Oh god... Okay... He had goggles! And a mask!" Clarke reminded the movers anxiously, flattening herself to the hallway as they wheeled the statue haphazardly into the building.

"Got 'em here," a wiry older fellow reassured her brightly, waving the headgear. "They came right off!"

"Oh thank god... Sorry..." Clarke rambled. "Oh! Watch his head," she cautioned, wincing as Ratchet Flack's head almost smashed against a doorframe. "This guy is-- ah, very beloved with the girls," she conceded with a wink. Biting her lip, she watched the movers wheel the fellow into the elevator. The model had only taken six months of back-and-forth and no short of seven final drafts to come to fruition. She crossed her fingers for Ratchet as the stainless steel door closed on himself and the movers. He was in god's hands now.

Looking about, Clarke spotted a door through which she could see the lobby. Letting herself through, she caught an elevator to the 6th floor. Already, a tiny plate reading SkyCrew indicated their home base on the directory of buttons. Stepping out into their brand new lobby, she oriented herself toward a reception desk at the end of the hall. Ahead of her, Ratchet emerged from the freight elevator. Hustling to catch up with the movers, she smiled to the receptionist. A plate on her desk said "Niylah; Reception."

"Whoaaa, hello, Handsome!" A voice exclaimed past the reception as Raven all but nearly walked into the movers and their cargo. Dodging them, she caught Clarke out of the corner of her eye.

"Clarke!!! Welcome, girl!" Raven rushed forward to throw her arms around Clarke. The two had been fast office buddies, though from different departments, until the move had split them up several months ago. "Reunited at last."

Clarke squeezed, a smile breaking across her face.

"Oh my god, we're finally all together again, after... How long?" Clarke raved. It would be truly nice to come to work every day with her 'gang' again.

"Yeah! Well, we can stand here hugging, or I can show you where you're gonna be sitting," Raven reminded her, releasing her at last and herding her inside the office, stopping short for a moment. "This is Niylah, she's amazing... Clarke, we have a receptionist now!" She added in afterthought, gesturing with flourish towards Niylah, who shrugged sheepishly and offered a shy wave. "And she knows how the hell to work a fax machine!"

"Hi Niylah," Clarke introduced herself sweetly. "I'll be working with the Art Department and I will be so glad to leave that stuff in your capable hands from now on."

"She'll get you business cards. Uniquely-shaped business cards. Right Niylah?" Raven piped excitedly, digging into her back pocket. "Clarke, check it out!" She waved a business card at Clarke. It had a faint profile of an infinity symbol. It read RAVEN REYES B.A.Sc., M.A.SC., Chief Software Engineer.

"Well, we know you didn't leave your swagger behind at the old place," Clarke smirked, brushing the business card down. "Very nice, Raven. You were gonna show me my office?"

"Yeah, try and keep up," Raven shot over her shoulder, already headed down the hallway. They passed a green wall and a large planter full of real assorted tropical plants. Posh sofas and lounge areas lined the windowed perimeter. Clarke was simply taking it all in, seeing a mixture of old and new faces as they passed through. At last, they arrived at a back corner of the floor. "You're in here," Raven announced, gesturing to a windowed office.

"Noooo... This is mine." Clarke verified, her hands flying to her head as she glanced inside before turning to Raven. "A side office? One rung down from corner office?" A smile spread across her face as she stepped inside. "Raven, I only just turned thirty and I've almost peaked in my life," she half joked.

"Yeah, yeah, bask in it," Raven encouraged her, leaning against the door. "We made it to the big leagues, girl."

"This is so dope," Clarke marveled, her mind already whirling with plans for the walls. She turned to Raven. "I gotta grab my portfolio! Be back up in a second."

_________________________

With some eventuality, Clarke located the loading bay by following the movers back out. Rounding the corner and trawling through her purse through her keys, she glanced up to see a tow truck idling in the alley. Trepidation seeped into her chest as her eyes went to her car. Standing before it was a penguin. Female penguin. Clarke paused to take in the situation. The woman was an exquisite marriage of understated beauty and intimidation. Polished dress shoes poked from the crisp hem of pants covering a long, slim pair of legs. An immaculately-pressed black blazer was hung over her shoulders, offsetting a crisp white dress shirt, and a black tie. The woman's face was attractive and youthful; sunned complexion, defined jaw, full lips, large, thoughtful green eyes, dark lashes, high forehead; wavy brown hair swept up and back into a slightly wild-looking french braid. She wore little or no makeup. Long fingers with short, clean nails cradled a black phone to her ear. Her eyes roved to Clarke and she said something into the phone before lowering it.

"Is this your car, Miss," she inquired of Clarke, with a voice as soft and dark as brushed velvet. It was phrased as an observation rather than a question.

"Uh.. yeah, can I help you?" Clarke responded concernedly. "Wait-- were you going to tow my car?"

"There's no parking in the loading bay," the woman told her, pointing demonstratively at a sign behind her. It read, "20 MIN. MAX PARKING. COMMERCIAL VEHICLES ONLY. ALL OTHER VEHICLES, 24 HOURS NOTICE REQUIRED."

"Oh, sorry, it's just, I needed to park there temporarily," Clarke explained. "I work here. Well, as of today."

The woman's expression yielded nothing. "No personal cars in the loading bay," repeated mulishly, her posture square. She seemed to tower over Clarke, though they stood at roughly the same height.

"Okay, but I'm with them," Clarke clarified, pointing to the moving van next to her. "I just need another 20 minutes, tops, just to make sure they get my stuff out. Could you just give me a break? It's my first day."

Just then the driver hopped from the tow truck, advancing a few steps toward them, looking questioningly to the guard. She raised her hand, motioning for him to halt his hookup. Irately shaking his head, he turned and hopped back into the cab, pulling out his phone.

"Absolutely no personal cars in the loading bay," the suited woman repeated, her voice touched with iron this time.

The blonde's nostrils flared and her shoulders rose and fell slowly. She just needed a break, here.

"If tenants can't park there, who are you even keeping it for? Hillary Clinton?!" Clarke continued, her sarcasm seeping into her voice.

"Only if she submits a loading request 24 hours in advance," the brunette responded, very quickly and entirely seriously, referring again to the sign.

Clarke raised her hands in defeat. "Wow. Okay. I get it. Just call your dogs off," she bargained, jerking her head toward the tow truck driver. "I'll move. Don't get your clip-on tie in a twist."

The woman's hand shot up to the tie self-consciously. "It's tactical," she snapped, a bit defensively.

Turning on her heel so she could roll her eyes as she dug into her purse, Clarke strode toward her car, whirling around once more to address the brunette with a last question. "Well, where _can_ I park, then?"

The brunette squared her jaw as though to challenge Clarke to protest before she gave her answer. "Parkade parking is $4 hourly and $18 daily."

"For fucks' sakes," Clarke was muttering as she ducked into the drivers' seat, slamming the door and pushing the ignition. As she pulled out of the alley, she could see the tanned woman folding her hands in front of her, standing like a sentinel as she began to round the corner to public parking. Clarke lost sight of her as she pulled into the parkade.


	2. Access Granted

"Access card!" Niylah remembered as Clarke tottered out of the elevator, succeeding so far in balancing a small tower of eight venti drinks in their take-out trays.

"Me? Oh," Clarke responded, startled from her task as she carefully proceeded past the desk. "Oh, right, for the office!" She realized out loud. "I totally walked out yesterday without doing that. And, um... how would I get one of those?"

"You didn't actually," Niylah assured her warmly. "What you need to do is head down to the security office between 9 and 10 this morning. That's when they're making them. Do you know how to get there?"

Clarke shook her head.

"When you get into the lobby, take the door at the back of the elevators. Turn left, down the hall, then left again. Yeah?"

"Okay, got it..." Clarke said slowly, filing the mental note at the back of her head. "If I can't find it, I guess I'll just ask downstairs."

"Yep, anyone in a uniform would be able to steer ya right," Niylah advised her.

"Great, thanks," Clarke responded brightly, before continuing into the office. "God it's nice to have someone remember this stuff for me!"

Scarcely did have Clarke have time to make her rounds, distributing the coffees and engaging in some much-needed catch-up with the few coworkers she had neglected to touch base with the previous day, when it occurred to her to glance at her phone. 9:04 am. Chewing her lip and wondering if the email she was meaning to shoot to Desmond could wait, she decided to get the chore over with before she forgot. Hanging her jacket in her office, she made for the elevators again, easily finding the door, Niylah had spoken of earlier.

Clarke scanned the long, white hallway she had entered for signs of a security office, trying to remember Niylah's directions. Her thoughts were interrupted by an uproarious chorus of laughter echoing down the hallway to her left. Tentatively wandering towards it, she hoped to find someone she could at least ask for directions. Another burst of laughter brought her to a windowed office looking out into the alleyway, beside the loading dock. A quaint brass plate on the door read "SECURITY OFFICE". A laminated sign in the window said "ACCESS CARDS ISSUED M-F, 0900-1000". The door was propped open.

Seeing nobody in the immediate office, Clarke craned her hear in, clearing her throat. "Um, excuse me?" Her query went unheard over the laughter, which was coming from a pocket door to her left that stood slightly open. Stepping tentatively inside the office, Clarke peered into the darkened room. There were several desks in the small room, cupboards, laminated signs... several filing cabinets had been pulled into the center of the room, an arrangement of magic cards and a crisp stack of twenties sitting atop it. A motley gang of four or five suited figures sat and stood around the far wall, which was mounted with four LED screens containing tiles upon tiles of CCTV views-- a middle-aged African-American woman, an immense man with a grizzled ponytail, a bushy beard and a face tattoo, a younger looking fellow with a clean-shaven head and shoulders practically bursting out of his blazer, and standing behind him, leaning over the back of his chair with her hand on the mouse, a tall, slim, feminine figure with the long, brown braid. On the top left corner screen, a window featured two sharply-dressed concierges attempting to intercept a man driving a scissor-lift through the breezeway, leaping out of the way as he practically sped into them before taking off in hot pursuit.

The tattooed man caught Clarke out of the corner of his eye, jumping in surprised and letting forth an apologetic "Oh!" Before tapping the brunette on the shoulder. She glanced up to him and, glimpsing Clarke in the corner of her vision, straightened and whirled around, erupting, "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY!!!" Before Clarke found herself swept out by a wall of dark polyester and Oxford linen, until she was standing back in the hallway and the woman was gesturing to another brass plaque over the door, reading "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY". It seemed not so much that she had stepped into a zone she was disallowed to be in, but that she had intruded upon some sacred secret as to what business the "Authorized Personnel" conducted away from the public eye.

Again before Clarke could react, the woman froze up, as though someone had poured an invisible bucket of ice water down the back of her shirt, stiffly raising a wrist to glance at her watch. Her face flooded with color, her eyes trained on the watch, mortified silence hanging in the air. "My apologies," she announced brusquely after a long moment, leveling her gaze with Clarke's again, "You're here for your access card. I have the correspondence from Niylah."

Clarke had not realized that her hands had migrated to her hips throughout the whole affair, and she stood with her face about six inches from the brunette's. Taking a breath and backing up, she tried a disarming grin. "Well, I want to end my career of security breaches before it really takes off," she joked.

"Right. Just have a seat over here," the woman responded stepping backwards into the office and gesturing to a lone seat against a white space of wall. From a cabinet drawer, she withdrew a cheap DLSR labeled "SECURITY".

"Wait, you're taking a picture?!" Clarke spluttered, caught unawares.

"Yes, for your I.D. on file," the tanned woman explained, uncapping the lens and sitting down in a rolling chair several feet away. "It's mandatory."

Clarke already knew better than to argue with the woman. "Fair enough," she sighed, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and perching herself on the chair, straightening a bit. "Good?" She inquired as she angled her chin, directing a polite smile to the camera.

"No smiling," the woman told her as she peered at Clarke through the viewfinder. Clarke knew she shouldn't, but she barely succeeded in suppressing a smirk at the brunette's adorable passion for protocol. The camera beeped and flashed. "Thank-you," the brunette said as she spun in her chair, plugging a cable into the camera and pulling up a program on the computer, initiating the flashing of a loading bar.

"Wait, do I get to see it?" Clarke asked confusedly, as the woman typed. The guard didn't turn from the screen.

"Why?"

"I-- just to see if it turned out?" Clarke tried, her brows quirking together in amused confusion. The screen on the computer changed, and she leaned sideways to attempt a peek over a padded polyester shoulder.

"The photo will be confidential," the woman responded pointedly, almost impatiently, as though Clarke was lagging behind her in understanding something extremely obvious. "If I take another photo, you will still look beautiful." There was no reassurance or flattery in the woman's voice, purely transparent statement of fact. _She thought she was beautiful._ Clarke's heart skipped in her chest and she felt warmth surface on her cheeks. Sensing a pause, the brunette turned in her chair and looked expectantly to Clarke, scooting to the side after a moment to allow Clarke to see her photo.

"Uh... no. We're re-taking that," Clarke decided as she appraised the photo, snapping from her reverie. The wide, green eyes flicked from her, to the computer screen, then back again uncomprehendingly, as though she couldn't envision the possibility of Clarke looking anything short of beautiful in any photo ever taken.

"Yep, definitely re-taking that," Clarke confirmed. For a moment, the brunette looked as though she were trying to recall a rule forbidding re-takes. Instead, she pursed her lips, giving her head a demure shake before uncapping the camera again.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

In the split moment before the brunette pressed the shutter button and the camera beeped and flickered, Clarke flashed a warm smile at the camera. A devilish smirk replaced it as she watched the brunette frown at the photo preview. Yielding no further reaction, she swiveled again to the computer to upload the photo, flicking a drawer open and inserting a blank plastic card into a device on the desk. When it popped out again, she fished for a lanyard and a hole punch, presenting the finished access badge to Clarke with subtle ceremony. "Welcome to Trikru 3, Ms. Griffin."

Clarke collected the card, sliding the lanyard over her head. "Do I get to know your name now?" She inquired. "Do I have that clearance, yet?" She added cheekily.

"No." Lexa responded earnestly. "But it's Lexa."


	3. Unauthorized Courier

Clarke twirled her pencil impatiently as the meeting dragged on. Desmond had declared, "Just for fun," that they would address the tentative structuring of the art and graphics department for their upcoming 2021 project. Her phone buzzed again in her pocket. Stealthily sneaking a peek, she glimpsed a text from her mom, and... four missed calls and a text from an unknown number. _Shit. Her lunch._ Pursing her lips in annoyance, Clarke tucked the distraction away. As though it had received a direct reminder, her stomach growled loudly.

"Guys, I apologize again for dragging this into your lunch-- I think that about covers it," Desmond was saying when she zoned back into the conversation. "Unless there's any further questions about the promo images for Nocta 2? No?" Laptops were already snapping shut. "Well, back to it, I guess guys-- after lunch, of course."

Clarke shut her portfolio and pulled out her phone. Unknown Number. 51 minutes ago. "This is Mario from Hustle. Food left at front desk". Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Standing, she shouldered her portfolio before turning to the boys.

"You coming to the break room?" Bellamy inquired.

"Yeah, I got Hustle, just gonna find out where the hell the driver left it," Clarke confirmed. "Hey, could you throw this in my office?" Bellamy accepted the portfolio with a nod. "Thanks, I'll be there in five."

Clarke escaped the boardroom into the hallway, heading hopefully to the front desk. "Hey, Niylah, did I get anything from Hustle dropped off here?" Niylah glanced up from her screen, grimacing and shaking her head. "Would have been about half an hour ago? No?"

"Definitely not here," Niylah responded, "Did they say they left it here?"

Clarke dug into her purse to grab her phone. Leaning over the counter, she presented the correspondence to Niylah. The receptionist read through the message. "Front desk... not here. They're probably talking about the concierge desk," she surmised. "Yeah, that's gotta be it, because I haven't gotten any food delivered here today."

Clarke let forth a mildly irritated sigh, returning her phone to her purse. "Ah okay. I figured I'd try. Well, time to go chase my lunch downstairs."

"Have a good one," Niylah replied brightly over the top of the computer. Nice lady.

* * *

The elevator descended and landed, the doors opening on the expansive lobby. Clarke's heart skipped a bit-- she wasn't even sure why, as she spied Lexa seated at the large half-moon desk, typing furiously as she glanced sideways every now and then to survey the row of monitors lined across the desk. Her hair was swept up into the same braid that seemed as much a part of her uniform as the linen shirt and the clip-on tie. Thick-rimmed black glasses were perched atop her slender nose. Absently pushing them up, she returned to typing. As she worked, her light green eyes seemed to flit all about the lobby, everywhere but at Clarke as she approached.

"Oh, hi," Clarke greeted the guard, clearing her throat. The typing didn't pause. "Good afternoon," Lexa greeted her with that polite formality of hers, her gaze lingering on the screen for a few seconds longer before darting expectantly up to Clarke. The typing ceased.

"Just, ah..." God, her eyes were beautiful and penetrating. "I was wondering if a Hustle driver dropped anything off for Clarke? About an hour ago?"

The woman's gaze returned to the computer screen and she punched something in quickly.

"We don't accept deliveries," she responded eventually.

"Oh, okay, well, I have a text that says the courier left it at the front desk? And my reception upstairs doesn't have anything..."

"Concierge doesn't accept deliveries," Lexa repeated firmly. "If a floor is given, we will direct the courier to the right floor, but we don't accept deliveries."

"So he's lying?"

The woman reached to take a sip of coffee from her travel mug, her gaze trained on the screens. "Couriers are free to leave deliveries in the lobby at their own risk. Unattended packages are removed."

"Okay, but, do you have it or not," the hungry and now frustrated blonde pressed.

"To ensure tenant confidentiality, concierge doesn't accept any deliveries. Documents or otherwise," the woman intoned.

"It's not confidential. It's my pasta."

The green eyes met Clarke's again, unflinchingly. "It was cold."

"And that gives you permission to throw it out? I don't know, keep it?!" Clarke shot back accusingly.

The woman's jaw worked impatiently. "Hot holding temperature is 165 degrees. Minimum. It had been an hour," she declared.

Clarke was leaning across the desk now. "And you, what, were tracking it with a thermometer and a timer?!"

The woman glanced away with something that looked as close as professionally possible to an eye roll before pushing her chair our from the desk and leaning to her right to flip a drawer open, withdrawing a plastic, gun-like object and holding it out expectantly for Clarke's appreciation.

"Consider yourself spared; the property is not liable for--

"Oh, for fucks' sakes," Clarke cut in, stuffing her phone into her purse and making suddenly for the front doors, her heels echoing angrily throughout the lobby. When the summer air hit her face, she stepped outside, shooting one lingering glance back to the desk behind the glass doors. Lexa was returning the digital thermometer to its drawer, and turning back to the keyboard.

Checking the time on her phone and then casting about, Clarke spied a cafe down the street. In no mood for anything other than a quick sandwich at this point, she made for the crosswalk. As she rushed down the sidewalk, a red take-out box with the logo Antonio's caught her eye. It was balanced in the filthy hand of a scruffy, bearded vagrant seated on the ground at the corner of the property, ravenously tucking into a creamy tomato penne with a plastic fork. Next to it was a crumpled Hustle bag, her name at the top of the receipt. Clarke didn't realize she had stopped to gape indignantly at the man until he glared up at her.

"The fuck's your problem?"

Clarke's brows shot up in indignation as she searched for a reply. "I can't even with that woman--" she began to mutter angrily.

"Bitch," the man grunted, hunching over the pasta again.

* * *

"Griffin," Octavia greeted Clarke amicably as she entered the breakroom, toasted sandwich tucked between her purse handles. "Get lost already?"

"Nooo," Clarke trailed off glumly, looking about for a coffee counter.

"Where's your-- oh, change of lunch plans?" Octavia inquired, nodding to the paper-wrapped sandwich. "Nothing caught your eye from the Antonio's menu?!"

"Well, long story," Clarke warned before launching in, "So, they finally cut me loose from that meeting, and I had like five missed calls from the Hustle guy and a text saying he left it with the concierge," Clarke narrated as she shook a tea bag into the cup. "So... I go down there, to that girl, right? Because it must have been left with her. And she tells me the concierges don't accept deliveries. And that she doesn't have it. So, I'm asking her, trying to find out what she did with it--"

"She ate it?"

"No."

“She threw it out.”

“Long story short, I’m pretty sure the bum who sits outside the Starbucks has sundried spelt penne for lunch today,” Clarke hypothesized, nodding.

“Damn, the Commander strikes again.” Monty's eyebrows shot skyward.

"Well, it is what it is." Clarke put the kettle on and went over to peruse the selection of fresh fruit.

"I always wondered," Monty mused as he stirred his butter chicken, "What you'd have to do to be a reasonably attractive, young, white, girl in security..." He paused, before answering his own question with a snort. "Probably not much, eh?"

“She has a mental problem, or, like, an OCD, I'm positive." Finn interjected. "That’s why she paces and checks locks for minimum wage.”

“And sleeps with the Commercial Tenancy Act under her pillow," Murphy cackled. Clarke couldn't contain her own laughter at the image. Even Bellamy's shoulders bounced with mirth as he quietly chewed his sandwich. When the humor died down, Clarke felt a twinge of shame. It wasn't that what they were saying was incorrect, it was just the spirit in which they had been saying it that didn't sit right with Clarke.

"Okay boys, lets be nice." She announced, attempting to conclude the conversation. "She takes her job seriously. I can respect that."

"Well, fair enough," Murphy argued, "But... come on," he trailed off, giving Clarke a sympathetic look.

"Noooo," Clarke maintained with a matronly firmness as she went to pour her kettle. "We gotta leave her alone, guys."

Murphy's gaze met Finn's and they exchanged a shrug.


	4. Elevator Entrapment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack.

The afternoon seemed to race past her as Clarke stood at a standstill. Scarcely had she gotten through her inbox and sent off some drafts for review by the time it was five o'clock. Pushing her chair back for a stretch, she glanced out the window. Desmond ambled by her office door, just then, briefcase in hand.

"See you down there? You have the address?"

Clarke turned from the view, glancing over her monitor to Desmond. "Yeah! Absolutely," she confirmed. Tonight was the night-- the big night. An elite team of them had been chosen to accompany Desmond to a dinner with Thelonius Jaha, the CEO of ARC Developments. Now that the Art Department had settled into the office somewhat, this was their chance to show him that they had hit the ground running, and were deserving of all of their craft beer, therapy pet Fridays, and perhaps an expanded budget to upgrade some of the drawing tablets. That was the prize Clarke was shooting for.

Flipping through her portfolio, Clarke saw with satisfaction that Niylah had printed all the illustrations she had asked for, with spare copies. Corporate buyouts had their perks, apparently. Grabbing her purse, her coat and tucking the portfolio under her arm, she headed out of her office. At the reception, Niylah was standing up and shaking out her coat.

"Thanks again for the prints, Niylah, they look perfect!" Clarke shot to the other blonde as she made for the elevators. "Wish me luck!" Entering the elevator, she punched the ground floor and checked her phone again. Five twenty-one. Damn. She needed to get better at this leaving-on-time thing.

_CLUNK_. Clarke's hand shot out for stabilization as the elevator dropped several feet before landing hard. Shakily, she looked up at the red, glowing numerals in the panel above the buttons. 4. Frowning, she tried the door open buttons. Several times. Pressing it rapidfire. Holding it down. Nothing. Temper flaring, she pounded loudly on the stainless steel doors. They didn't yield. 

"For fuck's sakes," Clarke cursed, stamping her heel for emphasis, giving the panel a smack in frustration. Blowing out a long sigh, she looked around. So. Stuck in the elevator. Presumedly, that's what the little emergency button next to the speaker was for?

She had a good idea of who would be taking that call. 

"Fucker," she grunted again. Time to page the Commander to her rescue. She could hardly bring herself to do it. Taking another deep breath, she held down the red button. Nothing to indicate it was working. 

"Hello?" She tried tentatively, releasing the button. Just wait a few seconds. Maybe she wasn't doing it right. She reached to try again. 

" _Go ahead,_ " a curt voice cracked through, just as she opened her mouth to talk.

"Hello? Oh. Hi! I uh... think I'm stuck, here. I don't even know the car, uh..."

" _One moment,_ " the voice cut her off. 

Feeling a little silly, she pressed the button to reply. "Okay." Several moments dragged on.

" _Clarke from SkyCrew._ " The voice intoned at last. 

Clarke started and reached for the button. "Hi! Yes, uh... Wait, how do you know who this is," she asked defensively.

" _Clarke Griffin. SkyCrew Enterprises. Access granted to Cab 4 at 17:21:03. Also, you're on camera,_ " the voice came back, without missing a beat. Clarke straightened and whirled around, casting her gaze to the top of the cab until she spied the camera nestled in the far corner of the elevator. Flustered, she considered flipping the bird at it. She was still irritated at the woman's earlier behavior. 

" _I'm going to try overriding the elevator management system. Stand by._ " Came the voice, interrupting her thoughts. She nodded to the camera, anxiously leaning against the wall and pulling her phone out and opening her messages. No reception. Was it worth trying to get a text out to the group that the presentation would be delayed? How long would this even take? The blonde bit her lip as she worried about what to write. 

" _Clarke,_ " came the soft, clear voice again, " _Unfortunately, this isn't an access issue. I'm going to have to place a maintenance call to resolve this._ "

Clarke's heart beat faster. "Okay, um... what does that mean?" 

" _I have to call in emergency elevator repair. It could take them anywhere between one and three hours to show up, depending on their call volume._ "

"Three hours," Clarke repeated weakly, her gut dropping, before realizing she had forgot to press the call button. "Sorry, did you say _three hours?_ "

" _At minimum, an hour,_ " the voice clarified. " _I can't guarantee anything until I place the call and get an estimate._ "

Clarke let out a shaky, throaty breath. "Fuck," she cursed quietly, her eyes watering with frustration. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Slamming her eyes shut, she took a long exhale, glancing at her phone. Five fourteen. She had only left herself thirty minutes to get to Sanjay's, scarcely enough time to navigate the rush hour to the west end of Polis, and now this.

_No. No crying._ If, god willing, she even caught the tail end of the dinner, she would have zero time to fix her makeup. Her vision swam and she rocked forward a step. And kept rocking. The walls kept coming closer to her... on all sides... she couldn't get out... Stumbling a bit, she tried to totter upright, but she couldn't put her feet under her body to regain her balance; she had to keep moving them or she was going to fall forward—

" _Clarke. Clarke!_ " Came the voice over the speaker, suddenly much fainter. " _CLARKE. Sit down._ "

Bracing herself against the wall, she fumbled with the red button.

" _Sit on the ground, Clarke._ "

Her fingers were trembling violently as she held the button down. "O-okay," she stammered weakly, clumsily sliding herself to the ground. Why couldn't she get enough air?

" _Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth,_ " commanded the voice, its volume increasing gradually. The placid cadence and rhythm rooted itself right in Clarke's chest. " _Deep breath. Two... Three... Now blow out. Two... Three... Deep breath... two... three... four... And out... Two... three... four..._ "

Drinking another quavering breath in, Clarke focused all her energies on aligning her breathing with the voice. Over the speaker, Lexa breathed with with her until she could make it to five.

" _Clarke, how are you feeling?_ " the calm voice checked in.

Reaching for the red button, Clarke pressed it. "I can breathe now," she managed.

" _Okay. Clarke, I want you to count five things you can see with me._ "

Scanning the cab dazedly, Clarke drew a blank. She wanted quite badly to follow the voice, but she couldn't process what she was seeing.

" _There's a TV monitor, yes?"_ The voice prompted her.

She glanced to the monitor in the corner of the cab, flashing an advertisement for granola bars, and the local weather. Inhaling and exhaling, she pressed the button. "It says it's rainy outside," she answered to Lexa.

" _Beautiful,"_ soothed the voice. " _What else?_ "

"The carpet... has swirls on it... um, the elevator buttons..." She turned her face and saw herself in the mirrored wall of the cab, huddled in the corner of the cab, face flushed, hair falling out of her ponytail. "I see me..."

" _One more,"_ Lexa's voice encouraged her. She floundered.

"Uhhh..."

" _There's graffiti in the bottom corner to your left,_ " the velvety voice guided her, " _It says_ _'_ Thundercunt' _._ "

"Say what," Clarke inquired foggily. Her eyes traveled to some letters scratched into the fake laminated finish near the floor, and laughed weakly. It did indeed say _'THUNDERCUNT._ '

“ _Golden,_ ” the smooth voice praised her. " _Next, do four things you can hear._ "

"Mmm your voice?" Clarke tried. _Her voice._ _The last thing and the first thing Clarke wanted to hear._ "Uh, there's a fan... my breathing... and... I guess the lights sort of make a tiny noise?"

“ _That, they do. Now, three things you can feel._ ”

Clarke cast about, her fingers tracing the texture of the carpeting. “Uh, the carpet,” she ventured before trailing off.

“ _What is your bag made of?_ ”

Clarke fingered the straps of her purse, smiling ruefully. “Bad vegan leather,” she confessed. “And uh, my stocking snagged around my big toe,” she added. 

“ _Two things you can smell._ ”

“What?”

“ _It smells like fake citrus in there,_ ” the voice pointed out, “ _the carpets were shampooed last week._ ” It did kind of smell like fake citrus.

“And,” Clarke added, turning into her jacket, “my fabric softener. It smells like lavender.”

“ _Good. One thing you can taste._ ”

“Ummmm... my own coffee breath?”

“ _That works,_ ” Lexa agreed.

Clarke closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling. She felt more composed. Still stuck in a six-by-six cell, but more composed. _Was she done? With the thing?_

“Um... are you done,” she inquired nervously into the speaker. _Don’t leave me alone. Yet._

“ _I won’t leave you,_ ” the voice told her with firm reassurance. “ _Do you have a set of keys in your purse?_ ”

“Uh... yeah,” Clarke trailed off, peeking inside the overstuffed bag.

“ _Take them out. Play with them._ ”

“Like... how?”

“ _Spin the key ring around your finger._ ”

Withdrawing her keys, Clarke twirled them experimentally.

“ _Do you have any pets, Clarke?_ ” Inquired the voice.

“Well, I unofficially have a fish... an unofficial fish,” Clarke surmised, “Long story. He hasn’t moved to our new office yet... he’s at my home. Bellamy, one of my coworkers, got him as a prank and put him in the coffee pot one morning... and a bunch of us girls, we didn’t know where to go after that joke died down, so we got him a real tank and he kind of became our mascot...”

" _Clarke, can I interrupt you,"_ the voice cut in, " _I can't continue to tie up this line._ "

"Oh," Clarke said, the walls of the cab inching a bit closer to her once more.

" _I'm not leaving you. Do you know how to turn on wifi calling? I'll give you my personal number._ "

Relief rinsed over her as Clarke dug for her phone. She was still at a nearly full battery. "Yeah! Hang on... Okay," she responded, pulling up a new contact.

" _Three one two... four zero nine... five eight eight three,_ " the voice intoned slowly. " _Can you repeat that back to me?_ "

"Three one two... four zero nine... five eight eight three."

" _Good. I'm going to hang up, now. Clarke, you can call me if you wish on my personal phone,_ " Lexa assured her.

"Okay..." Clarke began to say. _Was she still listening?_ Shutting her mouth, Clarke glanced down at her phone. Did she mean right now? Fuck it, she better have. Switching her wifi on, Clarke hit 'call' on the number.

" _Lexa Woods,_ " answered a professional phone-voice. Hell, this girl's normal voice _was_ a professional phone voice.

"Oh, yeah, it's Clarke again... from the elevator?" Clarke replied.

" _I know,_ " responded the soft, clipped tone. T _hen, why had she answered so... Weirdo..._ A private, adoring smile quirked the corners of Clarke's lips, spreading uncontrollably wider. " _We were discussing your unofficial fish,_ " the voice reminded her politely.

And on she went, twirling her keyring absently about her index finger, filling Lexa in on the merger and her coworkers, her mom back in Arcadia and her father, who had passed away last year. How she landed a job out of school with the arts department, the name of her childhood dog, the three reasons she hated driving.

" _Clarke, I have to interrupt again,"_ the voice cut in eventually, " _Elevator repair is on site. We should have you moving shortly."_

"What? Oh!" Clarke exclaimed, glancing to the mirror. She was nestled comfortably in the corner of the elevator, knees tucked up, phone balanced on them, idly rubbing the rabbit's foot she kept on her keychain. _How long had they been talking?!_ She glanced down to the screen of her phone. Call time: 1:17:05. "Oh, wow," she said, shaking her head. "That's good, right? Great!"

" _Stand by. They know what's going on. They say this shouldn't take long."_

"Okay," Clarke replied, standing up stiffly. _Wow. Ouch._ Hardly had she the time to stretch before the elevator shuddered and began to descend again. The door chimed, releasing her at last.

"You alright in there, sweetie?" A tall, clean-shaven man in grey coveralls extended his hand concernedly into the cab. His nametag read, GREG. Another, younger man in his thirties and matching uniform smiled from behind him. Before she could respond, a black polyester sleeve shot out in front of Greg, making way for the rest of Lexa to insert herself between Clarke and the repairman, sweeping him backwards with her whole body, which she had succeeded in making as large and as imposing as possible.

"Out." Lexa instructed, glancing over her shoulder at the backpedaling repairman. "She's had a medical emergency. She needs space."

Coloring slightly, Clarke made her escape from the car. "Oh, I think I'm totally fine, I just--"

"Sorry, just trying to make sure she's alright," interjected the repairman in a slightly defensive tone.

"Maintain six feet distance. Are you the van parked in front of the marked fire exit?" Lexa pressed the man coldly, her arm still barring the man from access to Clarke.

"Hey, we were just trying to get here as fast as possible, with all the calls you put into the help line," Greg reminded Lexa, raising his arms in surrender.

"Yeah, you're gonna have to not do that," came an apologetic male voice from down the hallway. Clarke followed it. The large male concierge with the grizzled beard and the facial tattoo stood to the side. "Just keep it in mind for next time. You can move it after you pack your tools in."

Lexa's eyes tracked to her coworker, and she lowered her arm at last, finding Clarke's eyes again. "Do you need first aid," she demanded of Clarke, scrutinizing the woman.

Clarke ran a hand through her hair. "I ah-- I actually feel much better, now. Thanks," she told the woman in earnest. "For everything. I think I'm just going to go home now."

Lexa inclined her head politely, her green gaze soft on Clarke. Clarke realized she was staring.

"Right... car...," Clarke cast about for the exit, advancing toward the parkade elevator before halting. "Ugh." She grimaced. She was _so_ finished with elevators today. She turned to Lexa and the other guard. "I'm parked on P7... I guess there's no way around this, huh?"

"Fire stairs," the male offered with a shrug.

"That would be unwise," Lexa cut in. "She was having a panic attack; loss of balance, shortness of breath, halted speech, disorientation. And she's wearing two inch heels," the brunette observed, nodding astutely to Clarke's shoes.

The immense male scratched his beard. "Right... point taken... Hey, wait a second..." His eyes narrowed on Lexa. "Lex. Get outta here. Go home," the large, tattooed man scolded Lexa, making shooing motions at her. 

"I'll escort her, Gus," Lexa all but pled with the man. "I'm going home right after."

The gigantic man shrugged emphatically and waved his hands at Lexa. "Hey, don't let me stop you-- but the company won't approve this overtime. It's on your clock, just saying."

"I know," Lexa told him impatiently. 

The man glanced to Clarke and shrugged. "She knows," he repeated before returning to the desk, muttering something about a 'pretty girl'. 

"Oh my god, I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't realize you were off," Clarke rounded on the woman to apologize, her cheeks pinked at Gus' earlier comment. "You should have just said something, when did your shift end?! Seriously, I would have been fine--"

"It doesn't matter," Lexa stammered, her own cheeks coloured a little bit. "I mean, it does-- you do, I just... Can you wait right here for a moment?" She asked as she started toward the back door. "I have to get my pack, I'll be right back," she explained over her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," Clarke responded, still somewhat disarmed by the revelation. 

Several moments later, the brunette re-emerged, in her shirt sleeves, blazer and tie gone, an overstuffed black backpack hanging from her shoulders and a grey lunch kit in hand. Her sleeves were rolled up. She had... tattoos on her forearms. For some reason, this startled Clarke-- then again, she had never seen the woman in anything other than full business attire. Security guards could have tattoos, she supposed... A lineart head of a dog, some dates... _I am enough_ written in an understated lowercase font across the back of her right forearm... A rainbow equal sign on the inside of her right wrist. _Oh my god. So she WAS gay._ Clarke realized she was staring, her eyes traveling to the large green ones. Lexa pointed her chin to the elevators to the left, striding over and pressing the call button. Clarke followed her, a little unsure of how close to stand. They stood in awkward silence for several seconds before the tone dinged, and a set of doors to their left opened. With her typical formality, Lexa stepped aside, gesturing to the elevator. Clarke hesitated. 

"Oh," Lexa remembered apologetically, before decisively making the first step into the car. Turning around, she nodded reassuringly to Clarke. Feeling a little safer, the blonde entered the car and pressed P7. The doors slid shut and the elevator began to descend, as did the silence between them. 

"I'm so sorry for keeping you overtime, you totally didn't have to do that," she prattled guiltily beside Lexa , "I hope you do get paid--"

"You were having a panic attack," Lexa interrupted, pointedly.

"Yeah, I mean, I totally didn't expect, like, it's never happened where," Clarke began to counter, not knowing where she was going with this. Lexa stood silently beside her, brows slightly contracted as though pondering something intently. Staring stoically ahead, she opened her mouth to speak and Clarke trailed off, but the words took several more moments to form, and when they did, it was carefully so. 

"I've had them too," she announced quietly; decisively. 

"Ohh," Clarke began to say slowly. She felt a twinge of empathy for the normally intractable woman. The admission instilled some weakness; humanity to Lexa, somehow. But, how was she supposed to reply to that?! Mercifully, it was then that the doors sprang open with a tinny _dinggg_. "Well anyways, thanks again," Clarke concluded, before thinking to add conversationally, "Where to you park?". 

Lexa reached forth, punching the ground floor. 

"I don't drive," she replied flatly, glancing to Clarke and inclining her head politely. "Goodnight, Clarke." The stainless steel doors closed on her, leaving Clarke in the lobby, mouth still hanging open. Closing it with a small smile, she shook her head, before turning toward the door. 


	5. Break

"Wow," Clarke wheezed, hopping off the treadmill. "I'm out of shape!"

Octavia's shoes pounded the belt. Without breaking her pace, she grinned devilishly to Clarke.

"You got like that in four weeks," Clarke panted as she watched the girl go.

"Office perks, Griffin. Your first month is free. You should seriously sign up!"

They were on lunch break in the adjoining gym. It was actually a great facility, including a pool, a yoga studio, and a calendar full of classes.

"I'll think about it," Clarke agreed, sincerely tempted. "Now I guess I know how you guys live with yourselves after you such back those lattes I bring in every morning," she said half-seriously. It had been about a week since the move, and she was still learning the lay of the place. "Anyways, I gotta get some air."

Panting, Octavia nodded, raising her hand in farewell to Clarke as she hit an incline.

"Oh come on," Clarke sneered playfully, before ducking out a fire exit with her towel in her water bottle, pacing some circles in the alley way before bending down and grasping her knees, blowing out a long breath and wiping the damp baby hairs from her temple. Straightening, she placed her hands at the small of her back, arching into the bright blue sky framed by the office buildings, her breathing returning to normal. Feeling a little less ragged, she turned to head around the front of the building, stopping short after a few steps.

Seated behind an adjoining restaurant at the end of the alley on an overturned four-gallon bucket was Lexa. Before her, on a makeshift bucket table, was a large white dish over which her fork was poised. Caught staring, she swallowed her food, and turned back to a young man in a white smock who was seated at a mirrored arrangement, scraping the remains of his dish into his mouth. Clarke glanced away, realizing her own gaze might be intruding upon the pair. The man in the smock stood, offering a fist for pounding to Lexa. Without looking up from her plate, she bumped it, and the cook headed inside.

"Nice uh... Spot you got here," Clarke joked when she got close enough.

Lexa looked up slowly, chewing politely and swallowing. "I come out here for the fresh air," she said with rehearsed smoothness, gesturing to the dumpster, the grease recycle, and the smoker's post across the alley.

"They don't have, like, a lunch room for you guys?" Clarke asked, her voice tinged with concern. Lexa deigned her with a look of quizzical amusement; perhaps the most expressive she had ever seen the woman.

"We're not building staff," she explained to Clarke interestedly. "We're contractors. The security, I mean. We're not part of the rest of them."

"Oh... that... kinda sucks," Clarke replied, the injustice of it marking itself on her forehead.

Lexa shrugged her shoulders unaffectedly. "Comes with the job," she responded levelly. "The cooks like to eat here to get away from the kitchen noise. They're really nice. They made me free things," her voice lilted with excitement as she lifted her plate of gnocchi to Clarke, before replacing it and springing up.

"Sorry. Would you like to sit," she offered, seemingly a bit flustered at her rudeness. A small smile tugged at Clarke's mouth as she perched atop a bucket, taking a long swig of her water. Lexa resumed her seat on the empty feta bucket her foot tapped contentedly as she took another bite. As Clarke noticed it, she halted the tapping.

"I'm not allowed to eat on the property, anywhere except the break room. It's tiny and it stinks," she chatted, before gesturing to a yellow line demarcating a perimeter around the building. They sat several feet outside it. "But we are not on the property," she explained to Clarke with quiet triumph.

"You have a nice break room," she observed, turning her eyes to Clarke. "Do you like it?"

Clarke nodded. "Yeah, it's crazy, like one of those offices where you half expect there to be a slide and a ball pit... I've never felt so adult and so much like a little kid at the same time," she joked. Lexa was nodding politely, but her attentions were elsewhere. Clarke followed her gaze to the end of the street, where an odd-looking lady was pulling on the door of a BMW.

"Uhh... oh shit. Do you have to do something about that," Clarke asked anxiously as they watched the woman walk around the car, peering in the windows an trying the doors.

Lexa glanced to her, and gestured again to the line on the ground. "Not on the property," she reminded Clarke, taking another bite of her food.

Clarke's eyes narrowed in surprise. "So... people can do whatever on that side of the yellow line and you just... stop caring?!"

"Yes," Lexa affirmed quietly, gazing off.

"I could never live like that," Clarke decided with conviction.

"Nobody's asking you to," Lexa reminded her unjudgementally. "Sorry, do you mind?" She asked, withdrawing a packet of cigarettes. Clarke shook her head. Lexa slid one out, offering it politely to her. Clarke shook her head amusedly. The woman shrugged. "Manners, you know," she reasoned as she lit up and took a long drag.

"Tell me Clarke," she said before exhaling away from the blonde. "If you saw someone trying to sleep in that alcove over there, would you care? Would you tell them they were loitering," she inquired thoughtfully.

"Well... I mean... no?" Clarke answered honestly.

"I would. Because they are loitering on the property." She took another drag, and pointed to a doorway across the alley. "I would tell them to sleep there, and they wouldn't be bothered. Because that is off the property."

"Well. True enough," Clarke agreed, still frowning. "But--"

"Would you give them an extra blanket?"

"I, well I guess if I had one to give... It's not like I just bring a blanket everywhere with me," the blonde responded.

"I do." Lexa replied. "I would give them a blanket if they were off the property and I was off the clock."

"Kind of sucks that you have to kick them out, though..."

"Trikru 3 isn't a hotel, nor is it a shelter." Lexa intoned. "They pay me to guard, not to run a charity."

"Okay, but this is different than someone obviously doing something wrong," Clarke argued stubbornly, jerking her head toward the lady who had moved several cars down in her prowl.

"I'm not a cop, either." Lexa stated factually. "If I stop her from breaking into that car, she will break into another one. If she needs to steal from a car, she will. If she has a habit to fund, she'll do it somehow."

"Well..," Clarke persisted stubbornly, "How do you know she's an addict? Did you just judge her?"

"No. I saw her shoot up in that stairwell last night."

Clarke pursed her lips, stymied.

"And even if I didn't.. Good people don't steal from other people unless they have no other choice."

"You're calling her good, now?" Clarke glanced to Lexa skeptically.

"I don't think she's bad," Lexa responded with slow thoughtfulness, "just desperate."

A rail-thin man limped into the alley, dragging with him a milk crate. The pair watched him. When he noticed Lexa, he beamed and waved. She raised a hand, a gentle smile quirking her lips. Clarke recognized him as the one who had received her pasta last week. Standing his milk crate up against the dumpster and cracking the lid, he withdrew a white plastic bag heavy with takeout, almost as though he expected it to be there for him.

"Leftovers from the kitchen," Lexa explained as they watched, pointing again proudly to the yellow painted line. "Not on the property."

Clarke glanced to the girl, studying her for a moment. Her face had softened. Absently, she crushed out the cigarette. Suddenly, she jerked straight.

"Oh no. Oh no, oh no," she muttered quietly as she checked her watch, her ears turning red. "No, no, no..." She rose quickly, knocking the bucket over and seizing her plate before rushing to the back door of the restaurant, ripping it open and depositing her plate inside. "Thank-you!" She shouted into the din, before rushing back around the alcove without so much as a goodbye to Clarke. Putting on the brakes and turning on her heel, she changed her direction, digging into her blazer. Hastily withdrawing a cigarette, she rushed to the end of the brick wall that extended beyond the Yellow Line, balancing a cigarette carefully on it, before turning and hurrying for the front of Trikru 3.

"Goodbye, Clarke," a shouted voice floated from the breezeway.

Clarke shut her mouth and sipped her water, starting when the homeless man shuffled apologetically by her, takeout clutched under his arm, avoiding eye contact with her as though he feared frightening her. Sitting stiffly, she pretended to ignore him, pulling out her phone. Plucking the cigarette from the wall, he reverently tucked it away before turning and limping down the alley.


	6. 10-78: Require Immediate Assistance.

Clarke wiggled into the booth, taking in the ambience of the Oliver’s as their next round of drinks was placed before them. 

“Guys, this could be our spot,” Octavia proposed. “No, hear me out. We could come by here right after work. Like, it’s right literally under our office. Get everyone together… and people wouldn’t have to drive home from it, they could just leave their car in monthly parking and take a cab to work the next day.”

“This round,” Raven declared, “Is to congratulate _you_ , Octavia, on your swanky new apartment, and to _you_ , Clarke, for making it to your second Friday here. Barely,” she winked to Clarke. “Glad we gotcha back from the elevator. Eventually.”

“Maybe the building’s haunted,” Clarke joked, wiggling her eyebrows back to Raven. 

“Creepy butlers and all. Bottoms up ladies,” She tipped her drink back. Clarke followed suit. 

“Raven, did you sneak me a double?!” She accused the latina upon tasting her drink, lowering it to peer into the pink mixture. 

“That was Octavia’s idea, cause god knows you need it this week, Griffin.”

“Those carbs won’t matter when you come to the gym with me tomorrow,” Octavia told Clarke slyly, nudging her. 

“Uh, tomorrow is Saturday,” Clarke objected.

“I know! I live five minutes away from the whole shebang here now,” Octavia reminded her proudly. “Drink up. It will help us ignore Homie over there.”

“He’s still there?” Clarke said lowly, her face falling in disappointment. Turning, she glimpsed the loud trio still seated at the bar, laughing riotously. He was flanked by the two others, self-sure and definitely buzzed, his hair balled up into a godawful man-bun, his stubble several days old and his dress shirt two sizes too tight. When did it become trendy for guys to look so… _greasy?_

“Yeah— Well don’t look!” Octavia scolded her. “You want him to go away, don’t you?”

“Well yeah,” Clarke agreed, “I was just hoping he’d be a little bored by now if they cut him off…”

“Guys, don’t look. Don’t look, just ignore him,” Raven cautioned in a hushed voice, her expression now graven with irritation too. “I’m gonna try and get our bill and we can just dip out of this place,” she planned, casting about for a server. 

“You ladies talkin’ about me?” drawled a voice from behind Clarke and she felt him rest his weight on the back of her chair. Clarke shot a martyred look to Raven before her gaze wound up at the bottom of her drink. 

“Aw, don’t be all shy about it. I saw you looking at me,” he coaxed Clarke with a playful nudge. “I’m Roan.”

“Hi there Sir,” a tall male server greeted them as a whole, “I’m Eric. “ He waved to the male. “How’s it going tonight?”

“What? Oh hey, yeah, food is good,” the male drawled, lifting his beer. “Roan,” he introduced himself to the server. “Makin’ lots of friends tonight.”

“Good to meet you, Roan, glad you’re finding everything to your liking,” Eric told the man with forced politeness. “Roan, there’s been some concerns about your party and that you might be making these ladies uncomfortable. This is the second time we’ve brought it up with you now, isn’t it?”

“ _What?!_ I’m sorry,” Roan chuckled disbelievingly, “ _What?_ Sorry, _when_ did you guys bring this up with me?!”

Eric strove for a relaxed conversation. “When we told you we were going to going to wrap it up with the alcoholic drinks,” he explained to Roan, “We didn’t mean get your friends to buy you one.”

“Sorry, I’m just…” Roan appealed. “Ladies, if I were making you uncomfortable, it would be _pretty obvious_ , wouldn’t it?” He leaned closer to Clarke, as she mentally cursed herself position seated at the end of the booth. The distinct scent of beer rolled off his breath. “Am I making you _uncomfortable?_ ”

“O-kay,” Eric tried to cut in more assertively. 

“No, seriously,” the man smirked to the server, “If I’m bothering them in any way, I would totally step off, but come on, I think you’re kind of putting words in their mouth here…”

Clarke’s brows shot skyward in disbelief as she glanced away awkwardly. In the corned of her vision, she glimpsed a flash of black and white. Her heart dropped through her diaphragm. _Lexa._ The brunette had appeared on the periphery, her eyes darting across the crowd as she leaned into her shoulder, muttering something into the receiver of a walkie. In her free hand, she was furiously twiddling a pen. A server had come to hang anxiously beside her. Even in the dim lighting, her grey-green eyes seemed alight when they found Clarke’s. The blonde’s heart clenched. _Uh oh._ She had a terrible feeling about this that she couldn’t quite identify at first, but then it came: Fear. For Lexa. 

_“Base to Lima, Stand by. Golf is coming… Lima… Stand by, okay?!”_ Clarke heard the walkie crackled faintly. _Bravo six, going dark._

Lexa was not, what you would call, standing by. She was cutting through the tables with purpose, pocketing the pen, her piercing gaze trained on Roan. Clarke braced her hand against the seat, shooting a helpless look back to Raven.

“Hiii there,” a loud, clear voice cut in what was far too chummy to belong to Lexa. Yet there she was, a bright smile on her face, head poised convivially, her gaze locking Roan’s on the spot as she spoke. As the male straightened to respond, she inserted herself between him and the rest of them, doing that thing where she pushed someone back without even touching them.

“We got a call that someone was a bit upset,” she told him loudly in that fake customer service voice, engaging him away from the table as a server looked on, now vindicated, her hands on her hips. “I hope I can help clarify things for you, sir,” Lexa was telling Roan sweetly as she edged him back another step. Clarke’s chest tightened in despair. Roan was big. Lexa was small. She felt very, very uneasy for Lexa. 

“Well, yeah, uh, I think you heard something a little wrong,” Roan oozed, that self-sure grin still plastered on his face as he shot the server a mocking glance. 

“I need you to step outside with me, sir,” there was Lexa’s voice again. With extra ice this time. Her expression had blinked back to her perpetually neutral, unreadable countenance. Apparently, we weren’t doing customer service anymore. 

" _Really?_ " Roan whined, "I'm sure we could clear this up quickly."

"I made that sound like a suggestion," Lexa explained more slowly, "But... It actually wasn't."

“ _Lima, stand by,_ ” a voice on the radio urged. It dawned on Clarke that back at the half-moon desk, someone sat watching the strip of screens, feeling just as helpless and worried for Lexa as her. 

Lexa smiled thinly to the man and Clarke spied a pressed cuff traveling quietly to her hip where the radio was clipped, fingers twisting a knob on the side until the little green indicator on the radio blinked off. _Did she just…?!_ It was then that Clarke noticed that the restaurant had gone quiet around them, except for the music and the clatter from the kitchen. All eyes had traveled to the affair taking place at their table.

“Well, I don’t think that’s _necesshary_ ,” Roan drawled smugly to Lexa, “But, I mean, I can come with you… _Am I in trouble officer_?” He added conspirationally, drawing close to Lexa, a hand reaching to stroke her elbow. 

Lexa’s stare was unwavering. Her lips pursed into a fleeting, failed attempt at a sweet smile.

_Lexa, don’t do it._

Suddenly, her hand shot up to firmly grasp the man’s tatted forearm. Everything was in in slow-motion now. Jerking her head back, she brought it, hard, into his forehead. 

“ _HOOOLY SHIT_ ,” a voice bellowed from the direction of the bar. 

Roan reeled back, stunned, and in that fraction of a second Lexa was lifting his arm, twisting him around, moving behind them, a polished dress shoe ramming with impunity into the back of his knee. When time resumed for a moment, Roan was dropped to the floor, on his back, and Lexa was letting up on him, stepping away, still defensively stanced. 

"Get up," she instructed him coldly; dangerously.

“ _SHE’S USING FUCKING KUNG FU,_ ” A drunk erupted with unhelpful enthusiasm from the bar. Clarke froze as she saw Roan’s two compatriots come rushing to his aid. One hauled the gobsmacked man from the floor while the other moved on Lexa where she stood gamely, watching him approach. 

“Don’t,” Clarke heard herself cry, horrified, leaning up a bit from her seat. She couldn’t catch what happened next past the wall of black and white that black her vision as two male concierges inserted themselves into the situaiton.

“ _GENTLEMENNN,_ ” a loud voice cut over the chaos, “Right this way.” It wasn’t an invitation. The six were sweeping toward the front entrance of the bar, driven largely by the two large concierges. One was the tattooed gentleman that Clarke now recognized, the other was the built-looking bald guy. They disappeared outside, and try as she might, Clarke couldn’t get a good glimpse through the patio sets of what was taking place. Just was she was about to leave her seat, the server put his hand out backing her down. 

“Totally taken care of. Don’t worry about them. Ladies, I am _so_ sorry,” Eric started in remorsefully. Another fellow in a sharp suit had appeared behind him. 

“On behalf of Oliver’s I’d like to offer a _huge_ apology for that,” Suit cut in emphatically, addressing the ladies. “I’m really sorry if those guys ruined your experience here, and that we didn’t get things under control sooner. We really pride ourselves in making this a welcoming place.”

“No, we get it,” Raven assured him, “You guys were really trying…”

“It’s getting busier and busier here on Fridays,” the manager admitted. “But that’s no excuse. Is there anything I could do to make this right for you guys? Does another round on the house sound good?”

The ladies exchanged looks. 

“Could we just get the bill, actually,” Octavia spoke for them with a diplomatic smile. “We were on our way out anyways.”

“You know what, don’t even worry about it,” Suit decided with a clap of his hands. “Enjoy your meal on the house, and have a better night from here on-in.”

“Thanks so much,” Raven responded gracefully for them. “We get it, we do.”

“Again, really sorry,” the manager apologized. “Do you ladies have plans to get home safely? If you can hang in, I’m sure we can arrange for the security to escort you off the property.”

“We’ll be good, won’t we?” Octavia asked of the two of them, “Yeah, we’re super close. Just parked downstairs.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” the manager conceded. “Any further problems— Any at all, just come to us or the concierge desk.”

Clarke slid out of the booth with the others, grabbing her purse and folding her coat under her arm. Just then, loud male laughter was heard from the entrance. Everyone, including the manager, flinched. 

“I think we made them feel too uncomfortable,” Lexa called to Eric smugly, her green eyes positively alight, an excited flush on her cheeks, by all appearances high on the excitement. The triumphant return. The other uniformed men were shoving one-another playfully behind her. Her gaze met with Clarke and it was fleeting, but it seemed long. In that crystallized moment, it sent a surge of something penetrating deep within Clarke’s chest. The brunette looked so _animated_. Exhilarated. Alive. The image would linger long after she shut her eyes for the night.

_________________________

Clarke poured herself into bed when she got home without taking off her makeup. The events of the night had taken a lot out of her. Still buzzing from the alcohol, which she had unwisely gulped down before they left the restaurant, she scrolled her phone, trying to unwind. Raven was home safe. Octavia was holding her to the stupid gym thing. She had a missed call from her mom. 

And, from several days ago, one outgoing call to a L. WOODS.

Pulling her blankets up around her and full of all sorts of bad ideas, she hit the number. Call. Add contact. Send SMS message. This was a bad idea. This was a drunk Clarke idea. 

Clarke Griffin at 11:37: how’s your head?

Lexa Woods at 11:38: Down a few IQ points, but I’ll live. 

Clarke Griffin at 11:38: lol

Clarke Griffin at 11:38: well you shouldn’t have done that

Lexa Woods at 11:39: Already heard that tonight.

Clarke Griffin at 11:39: well you also owe me a chicken penne

Lexa Woods at 11:40: Trikru 3 is not liable for any loss of damage of property. But if it will make things right, I will have one sent to you on Monday.

Lexa Woods at 11:40: You mean, to eat it with you?

Clarke Griffin at 11:41: yes you idiot.

Lexa Woods at 11:41: Platonically, or romantically?

Lexa Woods at 11:41: For clarity, I’m a lesbian.

A smile crept up Clarke’s lips for the first time that night.

Clarke Griffin at 11:42: a romantic date.

Lexa Woods at 11:42: Yes.

Clarke Griffin at 11:42: cool. what days are you free?

Lexa Woods at 11:43: Saturday evenings.

Clarke Griffin at 11:43: Tomorrow good?

Lexa Woods at 11:45: No.

Lexa Woods at 11:45: Next Saturday at 18:00?

Clarke had to count out the time on her fingers several times before giving up.

Clarke Griffin at 11:48: sure that works!

Lexa Woods at 11:48: Clarke, I am breaking two rules right now.

Lexa Woods at 11:48: I am still at work.

Clarke grinned in spite of herself, taking a secret pride in the notion that she had tempted Lexa Woods to text on the job.

Clarke Griffin at 11:49: ok. i’ll let you go. stay safe. don’t get into any more fights.

Lexa Woods at 11:49: I won’t.

Lexa Woods at 11:49: Goodnight, Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you will get what the "second rule" is in the next chapter. Be patient.


	7. Beyond the Yellow Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there you guys have it, the second rule. 
> 
> JFC, did you really think Lexa would be the type to flirt on the job??? Well, she wouldn't do it on a technical basis ;)

"Clarke Griffin," the voice cut across the lobby from the concierge desk as Clarke pushed through the front door on Monday morning, cradling an armful of paper bags containing various frosted pastries for the gang upstairs. She turned her head to Lexa, who was seated at the concierge desk, peering over the counter and adjusting her classes with intention. She clicked across the floor, smiling warmly when she reached the desk.

"I have something to discuss with you," Lexa informed her, "It's not a security concern." She added reassuringly. "Purely personal. Could you meet me out back at twelve o'clock today? I'm sorry it that's short notice. I'll be very brief."

Clarke's lips parted as she listened. "Yeah, of course," she responded. "Twelve o'clock. I'll be there. Give or take a few," she warned, preparing the brunette, who appeared very detail oriented, for the inevitability that she might be slightly late. She was kind of always late.

"Thank you, Clarke, have a good morning," Lexa bade her politely with a conclusive nod.

_____________________

Beyond the Yellow Line, Lexa blew a plume of smoke into the air, her eyes on her phone. Clarke didn’t have to announce her presence to know the brunette saw her coming, though her stare remained pointedly at the screen of her phone. Clarke glanced to the ground, taking a step over the Yellow Line. Forming a habit, perhaps. 

“Clarke, thank you. For taking time out of your lunch to talk with me,” Lexa addressed her now, looking to her and lowering her cigarette. Her gaze fell, pondering the Yellow Line for several seconds. “It’s a _professional boundary_ ,” the deadpanned, indicating the Line at last. 

Clarke lifted her chin, smiling quizzically to the woman. What she being serious, or was Lexa Woods attempting a joke? Or were they kind of just one in the same for her, sometimes. 

The whisper of a smile graced Lexa’s mouth at her own witticism. She took a deep breath, formulating her next words with care as her stare reconvened with Clarke. 

“I wanted to address something before we see each-other outside of work. Get it off the table, if you will,” she proposed. 

“Okay,” Clarke encouraged her attentively. 

Lexa’s gaze had drifted off and downwards again. She brought it up with a meaningful pause before speaking. 

“I’m neurodivergent, Clarke,” Lexa explained to Clarke, with the same guarded, neutral firmness with which she would issue a parking ticket to someone. 

“Like...autism?”

Lexa canted her head in contention. “Autism, ADHD, dyslexia, dyspraxia, Tourette’s... apparently now, bipolar,” she qualified. “Sensory processing disorder, disordered impulse control, poor nonverbal communication, stereotyped movements, hyperactivity, extreme dependence on routine, repetitive behavior or interests...” Seeming to realize she was rattling off a list, she paused herself. 

“You have all of those?” Clarke queried nervously. Lexa shook her head quickly, offering a reassuring, relaxed smile. 

“They haven’t come to any final diagnoses yet,” she admitted, “and my health coverage is up for the year.”

“Well, you’re still you. So I don’t see what it has to do with anything,” Clarke said, attempting to dismiss any earlier judgment she might have conveyed. 

“Everything and nothing.” Lexa told her truthfully. “It’s why I wake up, put on the same clothes every day, pace a vacant building and check locks for a living,” she pointed out, with a smile half wry, half joking. “Anyways, I wanted to make you aware. So that you don’t expect me to act neurotypical. Because I’m not.”

“I can get that,” Clarke agreed understandingly. “Um, is there anything else I should know? Like, right now?”

Lexa mulled her response for a moment. 

“Nothing you don’t get to know before you buy me dinner,” she decided with a soft smile and a playful wink. Clarke returned it excitedly. Lexa flicked her cigarette deftly off to the side, staring off and pressing her lips thoughtfully together, searching her subconscious for any final relevant comment. “Thank-you, Clarke,” she told the blonde. “I look forward to it,” she added seriously. 

Clarke’s eyes conveyed a sparkle as she regarded the suited woman. “Me too,” she agreed. “Well,” she paused, glancing at her phone and then to Lexa, who was pocketing hers and moving for the front of the building. Clarke followed suit. 

“Clarke,” Lexa told her, stopping just short of the Yellow Line as she remembered something, “I have a _caveat_.” She enunciated the word, closing off the end in that way she did with ‘special’ words. Like Clarke’s name. 

“And what would that be?” Clarke prompted, curious. 

“I would like to choose the restaurant.”

“Yeah, absolutely, if you have something in mind,” Clarke granted. 

“I would like to eat at Oliver’s,” Lexa proposed. 

“The one in this building? Um, don’t you always eat there?” Clarke asked unsurely.

“Yes,” Lexa responded simply and instantaneously. 

“Alright, well if that’s what you would like to do...”

“It is,” the woman replied assuredly. 


	8. Get in Touch With Us

Wednesday. Hump day. The main lights were off and the office was vacant by the time Clarke had finished on her work tablet and made all use she needed to of the professional printers. Stowing her necessary prints carefully in her portfolio, she collected her coat and purse, at last free to leave, knowing she had gotten back on top of things. 

Before she took the elevator, she made for the staff washroom. Seemed wise, before she began the commute home. Hanging her things up in a comfortably large stall, she seated herself. Panties around her knees, she scrolled her emails. The door swung shut again and she heard a series of brisk footfalls, accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of keys or something metal.

“ _Fuck that, bitches don’t deserve to rap…_ ” A soft, voice muttered aggressively. A pair of men’s dress-shoes stopped short outside her stall. Clarke held her breath. Her first thought was to open the chat with Lexa. She felt safer, knowing she was probably somewhere in the building. The jingling resumed and the feet retreated. “ _And I’m about to murder cats…_ ” 

_Lexa?_

Clarke washed her hands and exited, finding the elevators and punching the call button. A glimpse of black and white caught her eye as Lexa strode swiftly down the perpendicular hall, keys twirling in one hand, other hand reaching out absently to check the doors. 

“ _I used to dream of this, but now I got the money and the house and the shit seem meaningless,_ ” she muttered in her soft, rhythm monotone, “ _What's it all worth? If the grind don't ever stop, then my mind won't ever stop; nine won't ever stop…_ ” _Was she rapping?!_

Turning on her heel toward the elevators, she halted. “Hello, Clarke,” she greeted the blonde with contrived casualness— though her ears were reddening quickly. Absently, she pocketed the keyset. 

“Hey, yourself,” Clarke smiled to her. “Still good for Oliver’s this Saturday?”

Lexa raised her smartwatch, swiping it several times. “1800,” she agreed, as though she legitimately needed the calendar reminder— though Clarke suspected that if she, in all her left-brained disorganization, had memorized the appointment in two time formats, Lexa knew the date by heart as well. “Looking forward to it,” Lexa smiled. 

The elevator opened up to Clarke’s left. “Oh,” Clarke announced, slipping into the elevator with a small wave in farewell. 

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

Lexa vanished from view as Clarke pressed the parking floor.

“ _It’s the Ghost and the Queen, motherfucker, get in touch with us…_ ”


	9. Late Clock-In

By the time Clarke breathlessly burst in the lobby at Oliver's, she didn't want to check how late she was. As she queued impatiently behind the party in front of her, she shot Lexa a text. 

Clarke Griffin at 6:22 pm: JUST got here, waiting to be seated, I'm SO sorry. 

She hoped it was enough. As she went to tuck her phone away, it buzzed.

Lexa Woods at 6:22 pm: Don't worry. Go straight, left, and all the way to the end.

Brushing past the gaggle of people in the queue, the hostess caught her eye. "Are you meeting someone?" She inquired helpfully.

"Yeah, all good, I figured it out," Clarke assured her. The waitress paused. She had dropped her customer service voice.   


"Lexa?"

Clarke nodded.

"She's been waiting in the back," the hostess told her, her tone slightly accusatory. _Was she being judged? Damn. Not necessary._ Clarke felt an additional stab of guilt. She had researched. She knew the nature of her transgression. She already felt bad enough. 

"Thanks," she replied with a thin smile. At least Lexa had friends in high places here. Trying to shake it off, she ducked past the hostess to the back.

The atmosphere was much quieter and more subdued, to the left and all the way to the end, even for a Saturday night. She spied Lexa seated in the corner booth, back turned to her. She was industriously folding napkins across from a cook, rambling away to him. They threw their napkins into a bin as they talked. The server, a middle-aged south-asian man, glanced up to Clarke, motioning inquiringly to the seat. Smiling, Clarke shrugged her shoulder bag off. At least she had made it. At least Lexa seemed okay. 

Lexa turned her head, craning to peer over the back of the booth. _Those. Eyes._ She rose from her seat to greet Clarke.

"Clarke."

_Wow._ It was surprising-- and not in a bad way, to see Lexa out of her typical attire. Her wavy hair was swept out of her face, this time in a relaxed chignon, her face subtly made up in a way that made her lashes look nearly false. A comfortable, yet tasteful looking grey button-down shirt, left open at the neck draped flatteringly from her frame, the sleeves tucked up to reveal her slender forearms and the art on them. Form-fitting black stretch jeans and comfortable-looking suede motorcycle boots completed the outfit. Lexa had lapsed into similar speechlessness, her eyes traveling over Clarke's body, before she snapped out of it with a blink. Apparently, Clarke had done well in choosing the babydoll dress and her reliable BCBG pumps, and succeeded in battling her blonde waves into carefully-styled curls.

"I'm Lexa, the concierge," Lexa joked, a mischievous smile quirking her lips, "Do you recognize me, Clarke?"

Clarke beamed. The server was collecting up the finished napkins, trying to exit without disturbing them. Lexa caught him as he was making off.

"Vikram," she called after him, waiting for him to stop and turn. "Thanks," she told him, after a long, sincere pause. The fellow swayed his head cordially to her, before disappearing. Eyes returning to Clarke, she motioned for her to sit, and followed suit, sliding a menu her way.

"Lexa, I'm so sorry I made you wait for so long," Clarke apologized anxiously. "I just... I was getting ready and I lost track of time, and--"

"So did I," Lexa cut in cooly, licking her lips and glancing after Vikram, before directing her attention back to Clarke. "Did you know he's a divorce lawyer, back in his country?" 

Clarke tilted her head, impressed. _Go, Vikram._

A server came by quickly to take their drink orders; Clarke recognized him as the same fellow who had served herself, Octavia and Raven the previous Friday. "Hey, you got the nerve to come back here," he commented, nodding in recognition. "Good to see you, again. Lexa, no more busting heads tonight, eh?" Lexa ducked her head a bit, but offered a smile. Clarke went for a rum and coke, Lexa stuck with water.

"Anyways, you should decide what you want to eat," Lexa prompted her, bringing Clarke's attention back to the menu. Opening her mouth to reply, Clarke's gaze fell to the menu and she shut it, reviewing her options. It wasn't an extensive menu, but there were so many tempting options. Did she want to ride or die with the chicken penne, or try something else? How long had she been studying this for, now?

"You should order the chicken penne; they can make it off menu for you," Lexa counselled. "Otherwise, it will be on your mind for a long time."

Clarke nodded, granting Lexa's point. She set down the menu. She had been intending on chicken penne since they met. "You're right," she agreed. At first. "But... the scallop linguine looks really good. I've been craving steak too," she quaffled. Tentatively, she began to reach for the menu again.

"Marija, we're ready to order!" Lexa interrupted her hastily, leaning out of the booth to address a server, sliding the menu out of Clarke's reach. 

"Any decision is better than no decision at all," she quoted to Clarke, with a knowing tilt of her head. 

"She's right," Clarke agreed to the server as their drinks were set before them. "Could you do a chicken penne with some sort of tomato sauce for me," she requested. Marija jotted down her request, about to reach over and take the menu. "Oh," Clarke realized, sliding the menu to Lexa. Lexa fixed her with a look of soft amusement, passing the menu to Marija.

"I have some more disclaimers,” Lexa announced as the server disappeared. “They kind of come with the territory of being… me.” She paused, allowing Clarke to comment. 

“Okay, you’ve got my attention,” Clarke responded, poking at the ice in her drink with the straw.

“First, and most importantly,” Lexa declared, launching into her exposition, “I cut people off. And then we both stop talking. And then we both start again. We bump conversational heads like the Three Stooges. You’ll think it’s you. But it’s not. It’s me,” She paused to meet Clarke’s eyes. “It just happens. I don’t know how to fix it. But it’s not a big deal.”

“Secondly. I go off on tangents. Sometimes it’s fun to just follow it and see where it takes us, but if you want to get back on the topic, just tell me I’m doing it, and I’ll be right there with you again.”

“Okay,” Clarke nodded, impressed with the woman’s self-awareness and directness. 

“Thirdly,” Lexa proceeded, fingering a beer coaster, “My eye contact is weird. I know how to make it,” she assured Clarke, “but if I’m really concentrating on what I’m saying, or really concentrating on what you’re saying, I won’t be looking at you. That means I’m  really listening,” she explained, looking to Clarke for emphasis. 

“Got it,” Clarke affirmed, trying to memorize the information. 

“Fourthly,” Lexa continued, shooting Clarke an apologetic look, “Sorry if I’m bombing you with a lot of information. If you don’t remember it all, you can just ask me later—  Fourthly,”  She interjected, resuming her earlier point, “If you ask me about my special interests, or the conversation turns to my special interests, consider yourself warned; I will just take it and run with it, and I won’t notice if you’re getting sick of it.”

“I have been warned,” Clarke giggled. “Does that waive me of liability?”

“No. If I’m on about something, and I’m boring you, or you would like to get a word in edgewise, you just have to say, _'_ _Shut up, Lexa.’_ ’

Clarke’s brows lofted in amusement.  Was she serious?

“Seriously,” the woman insisted. “Try it right now. ‘ Shut up...,’ ” she prompted Clarke, her eyes dancing playfully. 

Clarke rocked back, smiling incredulously. “Oh my— No! I’m not going to start our date by telling you to shut up,” she defended. 

“You should hear what people tell me to do at work,” Lexa assured her in all seriousness. “And where I should stick things.”

“Okay, okay, fair…” Clarke relented. “I don’t know. I’ll try. To tell you to shut up.”

“ _Please,_ do.” Lexa responded emphatically. Her gaze drifted off for a moment and a comfortable silence settled between them. Clarke was about to open her mouth to attempt some conversation, but Lexa beat her to it. 

“And five— I just made up five. I don’t do small talk. Would you like to play a game,” she asked earnestly of Clarke.

The artist leaned in, intrigued. “Like, what kind of game did you have in mind?”

Lexa nodded, already seemingly knowing where she was going with this. 

“A game of questions. I can ask you any question; anything I’m curious about, even if it’s personal or embarrassing or silly. And you have to answer with total honesty,” she proposed. 

Clarke bit her lip, unconvinced. It did sound exciting though. 

“And after, you get to ask me any question, and I have to answer in total honesty,” Lexa added. Now, that did sound intriguing, as upfront and unabashed as the brunette already seemed in every respect. “ But ,” Lexa added before Clarke could respond, “You can’t ask any question I’ve already asked of  you. ” Her eyes turned to Clarke for her response, a ghost of excitement on her face. 

“Alright,” Clarke agreed, “You’ve got me interested—“

“One more rule; one more rule,” Lexa interjected. “If a question is  too sensitive, or triggering, you can veto it.” That only sounded fair. “But try not to be a prude about it.”

“Good call,” Clarke assented. “Well then, are you going to start us off?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, hit me.”

Lexa leaned across the table, winding a closed fist back. When Clarke's jaw dropped slack, she sat back with a loud laugh. Clarke didn't think she had heard a genuine laugh from Lexa until this point. It was a wonderful sound.

"Just kidding. Okay, let me think." She leaned back, her eyes fixed on some distant point above Clarke’s shoulder as she ruminated, a small smile gracing her lips as she thought about how to spend her question. At last, she spoke. “Have you ever… broken the law,” she queried, her eyes lighting triumphantly on Clarke’s.

“What?! Oh my god,” Clarke exclaimed, smiling up at the server as her drink arrived. “Wow, cutting to the chase… Is this going to be on record,” she teased Lexa.

“No, because it’s happening outside of my working hours,” Lexa informed her without pause. 

“Keeping it professional… alright,” Clarke praised. “Ok. I stole something,” she came forth, catching Lexa’s mock-disapproval. 

“And what did you steal, Clarke Griffin,” Lexa interrogated her playfully. 

“Hear me out! I was like, six… And I was at the store with my dad, and there were Kinder Surprises at the checkout, and of course I wanted one. I asked my dad; I was holding it in my hand, and he asked me if I had any allowance left. Which I didn’t. Then he turned to pay for our other things, and I just kinda… Stuck it in my pocket," She finished sheepishly.

“So, shoplifting.”

“I was six, Lexa! Anyways, when were headed home in the car, my dad saw me eating this Kinder Surprise, and he just says, ‘Clarke, did you take that Kinder Surprise from the store?’ And I don’t think I said anything; that was the first time I realized I was a robber, like the bad guys on T.V., and I was  soooo horrified with myself. I didn’t want the Kinder Surprise anymore. It wouldn’t taste the same… And I was afraid I would get in trouble with him…” Clarke trailed off, back in the car seat for a moment, before recalling her favourite part of the story. “And my dad, he just says ‘Clarke, just don’t tell your mom.’ And he kept driving, like nothing had happened…”

Lexa’s greens found her blues from the hole they were boring in the table. “Well, the difference between shoplifting and robbery,” she began didactically, before thinking the better of it and cutting herself off with a clearing of her throat. “You really loved your father, didn’t you?” She asked thoughtfully. 

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed, an unbidden sad twinge entering her voice. A pause hung between them. 

“Your question,” Lexa prompted her. Clarke blinked at her, caught off guard. 

“Ummm… okay,” she began, “I need to come up with a good one… wow, this is hard,” she admitted. Just then, the plates descended on the table; their salads, the tomato sauced penne that Clarke had ordered ironically, and gnocchi in some sort of rosé sauce with shrimp for Lexa. 

“You like your gnocchi,” Clarke tilted toward Lexa’s dish.

“I’m a creature of habit,” Lexa ceded. “Less… executive decisions to make.”

“Very efficient,” Clarke observed. “Okay, I’ll shoot… You say you don’t really get non-verbal body language. But you work with people. Isn’t your job kind of all about reading people?”

Lexa stabbed her gnocchi thoughtfully. “Not at all,” she answered decisively. “It’s about watching people. Eight hours a day, six days a week.” Taking a bite, she chewed quickly, as though racing against the clock to spit her next thought out. “You watch people, and you gain a control group for normal behavior,” she added her eyes boring into the table between them pensively now, “like, when someone is about to do something wrong— something they want to conceal, they look down and up, down and up, down and up, down and up,” she illustrated. 

“Like this. Down and up, down and up, down and up, down and up,” she repeated, glancing down at the table and up to her left demonstratively as she spoke. Her gaze returned expectantly to Clarke’s.

“Down and up, down and up, down and up, down and up,” Clarke echoed, charmed, unable to veil an entertained grin. 

“They’re trying to accomplish a task,” Lexa explained, “But they want to know who’s watching. They are ashamed. And afraid. Of people finding out.”

Clarke pursed her lips thoughtfully. She had to give it to the girl. “True enough,” she agreed. 

“Surveillance,” Lexa prattled, “plays heavily on human behaviour and morality. Think about it. You want a group of people to behave themselves, tell them they are being watched. By a being in the sky, for instance. And that said being will reward or punish them based on the morality of their behaviour— Bentham’s Panopticon,” she interjected on herself, poising her fork gesticulatively. “How to design a building so that its occupants will never know whether they are being watched. A design for nineteenth century prisons. But these days, we don’t bother with engineering entire buildings that way, we just post signs; _‘SMILE. YOU’RE ON CAMERA.’_ ”

Jolting a bit as though she had been physically poked, she looked apologetically to Clarke. “Sorry, if ranted,” she offered. “Sorry, sometimes I just go on a tangent… Am I boring you?” She asked her brows making a rare crease in sincerity as she peered into Clarke’s face. 

Clarke had simply been along for the ride— perhaps she had zoned out when the conversation had turned to nineteenth century philosophy, if only to appreciate how fucking adorable Lexa was when she spoke passionately. And  intelligently. “No, no,” she assured Lexa in ardent denial of the brunette’s suspicions. “It’s really cute… You’re  really  smart, you know that?”

Lexa glowed. “That’s what they pay me the big bucks for,” she joked self-deprecatingly. “Anyways . My question. If not art, what would you do for work?”

“Mmm,” Clarke mumbled, finishing her bite of pasta. “Probably a doctor. Like my mother. I actually attempted a pre-med stream, but I just couldn’t keep up—“

“Piss off, Sean,” Lexa interjected loudly, shocking Clarke. The brunette’s stare was fixed reprovingly on the serving counter, and Clarke turned to catch two cooks ducking back into the depths of the kitchen. “Sorry, I was listening,” Lexa sought out Clarke’s forgiveness. “I guess word’s gotten around that I’ve got a hot date. Please continue.”

“Yeah… anyways, I just was not cut out for that sheer amount of work. And the chemistry,” Clarke reflected. “How my mom got through it, I have no idea. So, arts were my elective, but I wound up throwing in the towel on pre-med and switching my majors. Best decision I ever made.”

“You’d make a good doctor.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Lexa confirmed thoughtfully. “Because you have a heart.” She worked at the gnocchi, making pointed eye contact with Clarke. “You have to guard it,” she counseled. 

“By not caring?”

“No... By choosing carefully. What to care about.”

“I dunno...” Clarke trailed off wistfully. 

“Some women,” Lexa continued knowingly, “they know what to do in... intense situations. No matter what. Even if they have never been in one before. They are fighters, and they don’t know it. They stand their ground. They are _lionesses_.”

“Are you calling me a lioness,” Clarke giggled incredulously. 

“You could convince me, Loading Bay Trespasser,” Lexa reminded her brows ascending playfully. 

“Yeah, well,” Clarke admitted, still smiling. “You got me to back down eventually.”

“I’ve been at it for longer than you,” Lexa pointed out. Her food was finished. She went for a beer coaster, folding in the edges and watching the cardboard tear beneath her fingers. “Whose question was it?”

Their eyes met, searching their memories. At last, Clarke’s face lit with recollection. “My question,” she announced, pushing her plate out of the way. “Okay, Here's one. When you...  _grabbed_ that guy and, like, flipped him over… what the hell were you  thinking, Lexa? You could have gotten hurt! For what?” Clarke paused, realizing the concern and reproach that had crept into her voice. 

“Not much,” Lexa acknowledged, cringing at the memory. “I wasn’t thinking much, I mean. There was you, and that man— I don’t like that sort of man. ‘Get _between_ them’, I guess I was thinking. Engage him, draw his attention off the target, encourage him to exit the situation… then he touched me; he was… “hitting on” on me; I don’t like that,” she added, “but that alone wouldn’t have been enough. He touched me,” she repeated, “and when someone touches me,  then  I am allowed to defend myself. So, I hurt him, and neutralized him, and taught him…” She trailed off for a moment, before looking to Clarke. “Taught him to take girls seriously when they say ‘stop’… I taught him not to fuck with you if he  ever sees you again,” she told the blonde candidly. 

Lexa was now onto Clarke’s beer coaster, methodically folding the edges of the cardboard circle. Did she ever stop doing things with her hands?  Those fingers ... Clarke caught herself thinking as she watched Lexa manipulate the cardboard dexterously. Clarke contemplated the woman. What had she gotten herself into, here? What were _they_ getting into?

“Okay, well… Calm down, Lancelot,” she joked. “Doesn’t do much for my blood pressure, watching that go down.”

Lexa grimaced apologetically, unable to meet Clarke’s gaze.

“It was foolish,” she admitted. “I should have waited for backup. I should not have engaged that man alone. Gus has already dragged me over the coals for my actions,” she assured Clarke.

“Good!” Clarke said emphatically. “Glad your coworkers have your back.”

“Me too.”

For a moment, they both gazed to their empty plates, letting a comfortable silence settle over them as brunette demolished the last coaster, scooping the pieces neatly into a napkin. It was Lexa who broke the silence at last. 

"I can't sit still for any longer," she apologized to Clarke, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Hm? Oh, of course!"

Just then, with suspiciously good timing, Marija swooped by. Lexa insisted on paying, winning out against the insistence of both Marija and Clarke. Bill printed and paid for, the pair excused themselves through the back door. 

"Follow me," Lexa invited Clarke, "I'll show you something interesting."

Sent from my iPhone


	10. Technically Trespassing

"You're showing me... My own office building?" Clarke guessed as Lexa scanned a card to the side of the building. 

"Yes."

She trailed down the hall after Lexa. Damn, the girl walked fast. She was up ahead, letting herself into the security office. She came out with a clipboard and a pen, providing it to Clarke. It was a legal waiver. 

"You're... Legally binding me to put up with your rambling?"

"No," Lexa told her lowly, a grin creeping up on her countenance. 

"It's to waive the property of liability in case you fall off and die. The roof, that is."

"Wait... what?"

"Everyone has to sign it," Lexa assured her, "there is no permitted way to get onto the roof without it."

Clarke poised the pen unsurely. "And... why am I signing this?"

"So that I can show you Polis."

Clarke paused, her brows lifting in surprise, just checking to make sure she heard that right. "You're going to sneak me onto the roof of the building, Miss Rules and Regulations?"

"We will not be ' _sneaking_ '," Lexa asserted. "Everyone will know we are there. Well, they will see the CCTV footage and access points we scan."

"Just making sure I heard that right," Clarke shrugged bemusedly, as she scribbled her name and the date at the bottom of the form. 

"Besides. Sometimes, it's better to ask forgiveness than to ask permission," Lexa reasoned. "Also, Gus is watching us right now, and he hasn't stopped us."

Clarke couldn't help it; she was scanning the ceilings suspiciously. 

"But I know where the blind spots are up there," Lexa assured her, taking the clipboard and locking it into the office. "So, we will have privacy."

"I'm honored I'm seeing your rebellious side so soon," Clarke grinned to Lexa. 

"Would you like to take the elevator, or the stairs?"

"Why would we take the stairs? To the _roof_?"

"For fun. To burn energy."

"Isn't that like thirty... nevermind."

Lexa was taking her hand and towing her into the lobby. Clarke glanced down, surprise and warmth racing through her. 

"If she breaks your heart, push her off," Gus encouraged Clarke from the concierge desk as they traversed the lobby and called an elevator. "And don't do anything weird in the elevator!"

"Everyone does weird stuff in the elevator; you know that!" Lexa called to Gus as they stepped into an available cab. Scanning her card, she punched the highest floor.

"Sorry, I should have asked, are you okay with this?" Lexa realized as the elevator began climbing.

Clarke turned, eyeing her with a smile. "Nobody I'd rather be stuck in an elevator with," she admitted bravely. 

"Good, because I can't get us out until we reach the top." Realizing that she might not have been reassuring in saying that. Lexa reached for Clarke's hand, enveloping it in her own and clasping it firmly. When they reached the 35th floor, the doors-- _Thank God--_ opened. Allowing Clarke to exit, Lexa directed her through several locked doors and a stairwell. The last one opened onto a clear, dark expanse of sky pinpointed with tiny specks of stars. The horizon still burned purple. 

"Are you afraid of heights," Lexa thought to ask, a bit late in the game. 

"No, Lexa."

"Good." They stepped out onto a fancy sort of penthouse patio. "Welcome to Polis, Clarke Griffin."

Clarke stood in silence for a long time, taking it all in. It was a fabulous view. She could recognize every part of the city from the twinkling lights below, the water, the little lights on the mountains harboring ski resorts, even other cities. Looking to Lexa, she caught the woman watching her fondly, their fingers still intertwined. 

"Okay. This; this is a good spot," Clarke complimented Lexa, still marveling at it all. 

"Thanks. I come up here to pretend I'm Batman." Lexa deadpanned quietly. "And to drop pennies off the edge and kill people... Just kidding," she added hastily at the end.

Clarkes shoulders shook with mirth as she eyed the brunette, charmed. 

"A penny dropped from thirty-five stories, even the Empire State Building, would not kill anyone. That's an urban legend. But it could give a mild concussion, or injure an eye. And for that, the property would be liable. I would probably get fired..."

"But you have considered it," Clarke teased.

"Considered it, no. Fantasized about it, yes."

_Was she kidding?_ Clarke supposed that was the charm of Lexa's dry sense of humor. She clearly gained at least part of her entertainment from watching Clarke evaluate whether she was serious or not.

Shaking her head with a small smile-- _Ah, it was a joke._ Lexa released Clarke's hand, dragging two lounge chairs up to the railing, putting them side by side. Clarke took one gratefully. Lexa relaxed into the chair beside her, producing from her pocket some sort of assembly of key rings and rubber bands, which she flipped and twirled about.

"My question," she announced. "What is... the most private thing you are willing to admit?"

"Whooo," Clarke stalled, "Hang on. Let me think..." She already could think of one private thing; she was kind of willing to admit it-- she just wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Somehow, it helped that they were in the dark. Biting her lip, she came out with it.

“Mmm, sometimes,” Clarke confessed, “During sex, It's hard for me... to..." She blew out a breath. Was this a wise thing to admit? "I’ll like… get too up in my head or zone out, and I get soo close, but I can’t quite…”

“Come?”

“Yeah,” the blonde confirmed bashfully. 

Lexa shrugged unjudgmentally. “It happens to a lot of people. Like… a lot.”

“I guess so,” Clarke began, as of yet, unconvinced, “I dunno. And of course, guys take it WAY more personally than girls...”

Lexa nodded, her gaze wandering in thought. “I think that in sex, there is a lot of pressure to appreciate the pressure that your partner is under to make you feel good. And pressure is a turn-off.”

“Thanks for your take, Dr. Ruth,” Clarke smiled. 

“I’m not a doctor,” Lexa responded absently, “Just making an argument based on analogy, which I think is actually valid evidence in its own right…”

“I was— never mind,” Clarke decided, aware how completely, nauseatingly smitten she looked as she watched Lexa, enchanted. 

Inspiration hit Clarke like a blip of lightning. She knew how to do what she had been waiting for Lexa to do since they had left the restaurant.

"My question," she announced quietly. Lexa turned to her, giving her attention politely. "So... When are you going to kiss me, already?"

Lexa perked up beside her. The keychain spinning ceased. 

"Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Good, because one of the things I actually struggle with is where and when to--"

Clarke cut her off with a brush of her lips against the brunette's. 

"Shut up, Lexa," the brunette mumbled into her mouth as a hand crept up to Clarke's jaw and she leaned in, softening her lips and sealing them against Clarke's. Lexa kissed her languidly and gently, in a way that made Clarke's lips tingle. The blonde hummed in bliss when a tongue tentatively ran the course of her bottom lip, granting her access. Her hand found Lexa's again after it pocketed the fidget, her other hand reaching up to stroke the brunette hair gently. They broke for air only when they absolutely had to, and then Lexa was leaning in again before Clarke could say anything, kissing her more deeply. 

At last, Lexa was the one to pull away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide, panting subtly. Her hand left Clarke's to dip into her pocket again. With a final sigh, she relaxed her head against Clarke's, her arm winding around her shoulder. "That was a good question," she decided a little breathlessly, "but not a legitimate one. You have to ask another."

Clarke blinked slowly, regulating her own breathing. How the hell was she supposed to come up with a question?!

"Uh," she said blankly, "Do you have a pet?"

"Yes," Lexa said, her energy instantly renewed and she wiggled, digging for her phone. "A dog; his name is Titus." She presented her lockscreen for Clarke's appraisal. "I saved up my money and went to the shelter, but they gave him to me for free, because he had been there for a long time. Then, on the way home, we spent the budget on toys."

"Uh oh," Clarke giggled as she looked at the beatifically grinning pitbull in the picture. He was a lovely charcoal gray color, with a white blaze on his nose tiny, upright ears. "Did I hit upon a topic of interest?"

"Yes," Lexa confessed. "But pets are a topic of interest for everyone. If you ever don't know what to make talk about with someone, ask them about their pets."

"Thanks for the pro-tip."

"You're welcome," Lexa returned politely, now scrolling frantically through an album that was simply literally pictures of Titus. Thousands of them. Not finding what she was looking for, she locked her phone, seeming mildly flustered. "Would you like to meet him," she asked Clarke anxiously, "I can show you my place."


	11. Return to Base (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, guys, here's your smut!

"Fair warning to absolve us of liability," Lexa announced as they approached the door of her suite, "Titus is very wary of guests in our place. He is not dangerous, just afraid. If you just ignore him, he will get comfortable with you at his own pace."

"Oh-kay," Clarke agreed, slowly and nervously. 

"I would not bring you here if you were in danger, Clarke. If you feel uncomfortable, I will put him behind his gate."

For some reason, that made her feel better. Lexa turned the key, and cracked the door. After a few moments, their ears were greeted by the scrabbling of nails on hardwood and a burst of growling and barking. A cobby grey nose jammed itself through the door. 

"Shut up, Titus," Lexa commanded the beast, pushing the snout back with a knee. "Sit." Glancing back to Clarke, she motioned for her to stay where she was, slipping inside and shutting the door for a moment. When she opened it again, beckoning Clarke inside, the dog was behind a gate in a room down the hall, twirling about with a large bone in his mouth. Stringy drool descended from his jowls. 

"He will behave," Lexa assured her, toeing off her boots. "This is my place," she announced, glancing expectantly to Clarke. It took Clarke a moment to clue in that she was probably to take off her shoes. Reaching down, Lexa collected them and lined them up tidily on a rack by the door. 

"Come see," Lexa invited her, taking her by the hand and leading her down the short front hall to the main living space of the one-bedroom, flicking on the lights. It was immaculate. Clarke felt an instantaneous pang of shame, thinking of her own cluttered place. 

"Oh my-- wow, it's so... _clean,_ " she observed inarticulately as she gazed around. It was a minimalist setup. Spartan, even. In all honesty, it looked like a home staged for an open house, rather than a place someone actually called their home. The few clues to Lexa's identity lay in the muted decor, the large basket of dog toys in the living room, an a meticulously-filled dry-erase board on the fridge.

"Pathologically clean," Lexa assured her, as though she could see the mental comparisons racing through Clarke's mind; an attempt to dispel any inadequacy Clarke might be feeling. "Would you like some water?" She offered. "Or coffee?" _Who drank coffee at eleven at night?_

"Mmm," Clarke pursed her lips unsurely.

"I have nothing sweet," Lexa told her apologetically, "Like cola or juice. Oh! I have flavored sparkling water," she recalled, pleased with herself. Now, that _did_ tempt Clarke. 

"Yeah?" 

Lexa was cracking the fridge open. Clarke was less surprised this time to spy perfectly-oriented foodstuffs and uniformly-stacked tupperware. A can of some blackberry-flavored sparkling water was passed to her. "Would you like a glass, or do you drink it from the can?"

"Can is fine," Clarke told her cheerfully, accepting the drink and snapping it open. Sipping it thoughtfully, she padded into Lexa's living room, looking around. She couldn't think of anything to say with other than that the furniture was nice and that it was extremely, extremely clean, but she didn't want to belabor that with Lexa. Freezing on the area rug, she turned guiltily back to Lexa, who was watching her from the kitchen. 

"Is it okay if I take this over the carpet?"

"Sugar-free drinks are extremely easy to clean from carpeting," Lexa informed her, "because they don't leave sticky residue-- nevermind."

"You have a Nintendo Switch?" Clarke ventured, _finally_ spying something to make conversation of.

"Yes," Lexa observed, her eyes lighting on the console as she moved into the living room. "I highly recommend them. They are portable," she told Clarke, removing the console from its base demonstratively. "I take it to work sometimes, and to waiting rooms, to kill time. I got a good case for it," she continued gesturing to the case lined up next to it. "It apparently doesn't take falls well, but I haven't dropped it yet. And Nintendo is a developer that puts out a good collection of games for either group or solo play... Would you like to play Mario Kart?"

Clarke blinked, speechless for a short moment. She was scarcely done congratulating herself on breaking the awkward silence and now, she was beginning to suspect that she had been invited back to Lexa's place purely on the intentions that she would meet Titus and play Mario Kart. Raising her drink nervously, she opened her mouth, prepared to commit to a few rounds of Mario Kart, when they were interrupted by a moaning sound from the bedroom. 

"Shit... Titus," Lexa realized, her hands flying to her head guiltily. "Sorry, I completely forgot to let him outside," she called, already halfway to the bedroom. "Clarke? I'll be back. Please just make yourself comfortable." Clarke heard Lexa offering her apologies to Titus in the bedroom. The front door creaked open. "If you can figure out how to set up the Switch, you can be Player One!" The door swung closed. 

Clarke wandered to the kitchen, feeling both silly and awkward. Her two least favorite things to feel. She had thought their date had been going well; that Lexa intended to take things further-- but maybe Lexa had not caught her drift? Either that, or she had not caught Lexa's? She had assumed it obvious that most people took a date back to their place with the intent of, well... getting it on. That was a "script". But then again, was it a "script" to have sex on the first date? Maybe only for a certain 'type' of girl? She probably didn't want to project that image of herself to Lexa anyways. Maybe Lexa had assumed she wasn't the kind of girl to have sex on the first date. She was probably just trying to treat Clarke courteously. Or maybe-- _maybe_ Lexa simply didn't want to get it on with her tonight, for any number of reasons... She should just shut up and play the stupid Mario-Kart.

The door burst open, saving her from her own racing mind. She heard Lexa putting Titus in the bedroom. She should probably go back to the living room and look like she was setting up the TV rather than freaking out in the kitchen. As she set her drink on the counter and turned for the living room, she whirled and ran straight into Lexa. The brunette caught her swiftly, stepping back from her a bit to look into her eyes. 

"Oh my god, sorry--" Clarke stammered. Here it came. She was probably turning beet-red. The look on Lexa's face gave her pause. The woman looked... Less distracted. Focused on _her,_ all of a sudden. 

"Is it okay if I kiss you," Lexa inquired in a soft, earnest voice. Mario Kart had been scratched off the Agenda, apparently.

" _Yes_ please," Clarke responded with boundless welcome. With no further delays, Lexa was brushing a hand up against the back of her neck and brushing her nose against Clarke before engaging her in one of those holy-shit-make-your-lips-tingle kisses. Clarke leaned against the counter, welcoming Lexa's tongue when it sought access to her mouth, reaching around Lexa's shoulders with a liberated whine as their bodies pressed together. When a hand traveled to her back, she opened further to Lexa. When they parted, Lexa took her hand, leading them to the couch. When she sat down, fixating Clarke with those imploring green eyes, Clarke slipped onto her lap, her dress riding up as she straddled the woman, leaning in for another kiss. 

It was Lexa who peeled herself away first, wide-eyed, lips swollen. Her fingers trailed up and down Clarke's zipper, the other cupping her ass. 

"Clarke, do you want to have sex," she implored, her voice raw with arousal, her tone unsure. "Because if you don't, I think it's best that we stop kiss--"

She was silenced swiftly by Clarke's insistent mouth, and she groaned, her hand dropping from Clarke's back. Patience waning, Clarke reached awkwardly behind her to move the hand up to the top of her zipper and Lexa obliged her, fingers finding the pull and undoing the back of the dress. Leaning back for a moment, the blonde shucked the dress off with Lexa's clumsy assistance, her fingers going to Lexa's buttons to make short and precise work of them. She worked with her hands, too; she was an artist, after all. 

Lexa flopped back onto the couch for a moment to appraise Clarke's lace-encased breasts with unabashed awe, eliciting a smile from Clarke as her gaze took in the large stag centered on the brunette's chest, with antlers that disappeared beneath the straps of her simple sports bra. Enjoying this far too much, Clarke watched with adoration and amusement as she undid her clasp, letting the garment slide off her body.

“You have beautiful breasts,” Lexa told her frankly. “But I try hard not to look at them out of respect for you as a person, and also because though they’re objectively attractive, some women with large breasts are self-conscious—“

“Shut up, Lexa,” Clarke husked in genuine impatience. 

Lexa cut herself off obediently, recalling her task. Lowering her lips, she pushed Clarke’s breasts gently up and together, dusting the tops with soft kisses that gradually grew into hotter, wetter, open-mouthed one’s. 

“Ohh,” Clarke sighed as she leaned into Lexa needily, transfixed— the sight of her, face relaxed in bliss, running her lips over the contours of her cleavage. Her thumbs stroked their sensitive undersides as she moved her face lower and Clarke straightened higher. The brunette turned a straining nipple into her mouth and they both hummed in relief. Clarke’s hips worked slowly against Lexa’s pelvis as the woman lathed the sensitive flesh with her tongue, her fingers finding purchase on Clarke’s other nipple. She pulled and pinched it gently at it with those long fingers, teasing it to a taut point before tweaking it and rolling it with her thumb. Just when Clarke thought she couldn’t handle it for any longer, Lexa switched. Clarke was in ecstasy. 

She was so hot, she felt the heat rolling off her body like a radiator and she was certain Lexa could feel it too— she felt _everything_. Clarke felt swollen between her thighs. Growing impatient, she dismounted the other woman’s lap, reclining back onto the couch and pulling Lexa with her. The older woman descended on her again, their legs interlocking, leaning down to place another searing kiss to Clarke’s swollen lips as her hand wandered back up to knead a breast. 

Their hips had found a rhythm as they churned together, pushing their clefts snugly into one-another’s thigh. When Lexa drew back, she was open-mouthed, panting, pupils blown, a flush high on her cheeks. With great difficulty, she extricated herself from the shapely thigh, scooting down Clarke’s squirming body. The blonde was left only in a— now damp— pair of panties. Dragging her lips up the inside of Clarke’s thigh for the pleasure of it, the blonde’s clit throbbed as the green gaze directed itself with intent and hunger onto her shrouded sex. Then it traveled to her eyes. 

Leaning forward, Lexa settled between her legs, arms over Clarke’s thighs, inhaling deeply as she contentedly ran her lips over the top of the black lace. If it weren’t for the sheer weight of the brunette pinning her down by the thighs, Clarke would have been throwing the poor girl off the couch with her insistent squirming. Relenting only a little, Lexa settled down further, planting kisses up into Clarke's covered cleft, her eyes drifted shut in delight. The blonde freed her legs, throwing them over Lexa's shoulders urgingly. When the brunette came up to hook her fingers under Clarke's waistband and gently guide the sodden garment over her legs, she was flushed and panting. 

When Lexa ducked down again, Clarke resumed her position with her thighs over the muscled, inked shoulders. Under any-- _literally any--_ other circumstance, she might have been self-conscious about how she looked or how she smelled or simply how wet she was, but in this moment, she was too turned on to care. When Lexa's flattened, relaxed tongue came out to bathe her whole pussy from base to clit in a single lick, she yelped so loudly that she had to shove Lexa's startled head down between her legs again before the brunette could ask if she had done something wrong. 

"So good, Lexa," she moaned praisingly as the other woman worked her tongue over and over and over her sensitized folds, stiffening it, relaxing it, dipping into Clarke's entrance to lap up the wetness and then moving up to probe the hood of her clitoris carefully. Her hands had slipped under Clarke's ass to stroke and knead at it absently. Blinking her eyes open for a moment, their gazes met as Lexa closed her lips around her distended bud, gauging her reaction as she began with a gentle suck. Clarke's head dropped back into the armrest with a keening sound. 

"Lexa, I need you to put your fingers inside me."

"How many?"

"Two..."

An adoring groan left Clarke's lips and she felt the delicious stretch, canting her hips eagerly up onto Lexa's fingers. Lowering her lips to Clarke's clitoris again, Lexa lavished it with delicate sucks as she began to saw her fingers in and out. The litany of indulgent sounds spilling from Clarke's lips was nonstop until she felt herself reach that point-- _Was it going to happen_? Clarke's mouth worked and her eyes slipped shut so she could concentrate on the feeling; she wanted to come for Lexa. She just wanted to come, period. She realized her fingers had worked into Lexa's hair. _Was she holding it too tightly? Would Lexa take it personally if she couldn't make her come?_ The hand that had remained grasping a curvy buttock slid up to Clarke's thigh to idly trace patterns along the inside of it with blunt nails, bringing all of her awareness rushing back below her navel. _ _Jesus fucking Christ.__

__

"Breathe," came Lexa's command, mumbled against her clit as her hand continued at its pace. She sucked in a huge breathful of air to replace everything in her empty lungs. Her mouth hung open. 

"Breathe," Lexa urged again between licks, prompting her to sip another breath. _Holy fuck._ She was just on the cusp. 

"Breathe," came the muffled reminder again, and she obliged Lexa. _It was going to happen, it was definitely going to happen, it was definitely going to happen..._

"Lexa, Lexa, holy fuck-- holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck..." The sensations rocked her body to the tip of every extremity, her hips stuttering as she shuddered. She felt Lexa watching her, groaning in empathy as her hand kept pace and her tongue gentled on her clit, helping Clarke ride it out for what seemed like... Goddamn ages. 

At last the brunette head lifted and her fingers slowed as she watched Clarke shiver and twitch breathlessly with the aftershocks, and she was moving up Clarke's form, they were struggling with the snap on her pants and helping her writhe out of pants and underwear in one frantic motion. Her hair was mostly fallen out of her bun by the time they got her bra up over her head and down her lithe arms. Even in the dim lamplight, her chest was vividly dappled pink from sheer stimulation, and she hadn't even been touched yet. Clarke reached for a taut, brown nipple, fingering it gently as Lexa hooked a thigh over her hip, squeezing a knee under the other one. Her gaze directed down, her jaw dropped open in breathless concentration as she spread them both open, aligning them with care and sinking down slowly. 

Both women groaned at the contact of the most intimate kiss, Lexa's hooded gaze wandering to Clarke's as she shifted her hips, finding a gentle rhythm. Splaying one palm across Clarke's pubic bone, she brought the other hand to her sensitized chest. "S-scratch gently," she stuttered, her eyes falling shut in pleasure as Clarke moved to trace her nails in idle patterns all over Lexa's chest, just as had been done to her earlier. Nodding quietly, Lexa released Clarke's hand to reach down and encourage Clarke's leg up, testing it, and resting it along her body, over her shoulder. 

Clarke's hand drifted to her own nipple as her nails continued to play across the flushed chest, moaning as Lexa began to course her lips up and down her calf, the motions of her hips becoming firmer and more insistent. She could feel their clits-- _she could feel their clits_ teasing together as Lexa shifted her hips with precise little movements, and she whimpered openly. Opening her eyes, Lexa wet her lips, panting out a warning while she still could. "C-can't talk now." She then dissolved into whimpers and labored breaths, her hips working harder, her eyes falling shut, snapping open again, skittering around the room. She thrashed her head, as though she couldn't handle the sheer sensation unless she moved it, tousling her burnished waves loose of the tie. 

"Can you come from this?"

"Nnn... C--," Lexa struggled inarticulately, her legs shaking violently. Her eyes closed as she strove to breathe regularly until her body stiffened in completion, shallow pants bursting from her lips. At last she sagged against Clarke's thigh, breathless, smiling from ear to ear, her gaze connecting fondly with Clarke's. Shakily, she drooped onto Clarke's chest with a groan, burying her face into the younger woman's neck, pressing kisses to it as she tried to regulate her breathing.

"We did that out of order. I haven't shown you my bedroom," she realized when her brain could make thoughts again. 

"Okay, off now. You're _heavy,"_ Clarke decided at length.

"Thank-you. I eat peanut butter."

"You're most welcome," the blonde smiled, rolling her eyes over Lexa's shoulder. What the woman took as a compliment was out of her control, she supposed. 

"Would you like to see my bedroom now?"

"That sounds better than the couch. Is Kujo going to be okay now?"

"His name is Titus. He should be fine."

Pushing herself off the blonde, Lexa helped her up, gathering her clothes up and leading her to the bedroom. The dog brushed past them, wiggling, bone clamped in his mouth, to go jump on the couch. Lexa insisted on hanging up their clothes immediately, _"Just please, Clarke."_ The blonde resigned herself to the bed, but Lexa was not done yet. Padding nude from the room, she came back with Clarke's drink, and a warm washcloth. When Clarke rolled onto her back, she dipped between Clarke's legs with it-- _Wow, that felt good,_ tossing it into the laundry hamper afterward and scooping Clarke up onto her chest.

Breathless, Lexa reached for her— apparently, _their_ drink, on the sill above the bed. 

“My mouth’s been on your genitals,” she reasoned out loud before taking a gulp. “You’ve been tested, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Me too. Because I didn’t do that in order, so I forgot to bring it up...”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments. 

“Not even one tiny crab?” Lexa probed in a low voice. 

“ _LEXA!_ ” Clarke was slapping her chest, giggling. She felt Lexa’s grin widen against her forehead. 

“Alright. Well out you go. Just kidding,” Lexa added automatically, leaving no room for Clarke to wonder if she was serious. 

“It’s okay if I stay?”

“Yes, because I don’t work until 1600 tomorrow.” Lexa decided readily. “Also, because I’d like it,” she thought to add. "And Clarke?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry that sometimes, I get restless and hyper after sex. It's not that I don't care about you or that I'm bored, just... really tired, or stimulated, or both. I don't always know. That's why I have to run around fetching stuff for you afterward instead of holding you, which is what you probably need."

Clarke propped herself up to look into Lexa's eyes. "Lexa, there's _nothing_ wrong with that," she murmured reassuringly. 

"I know... just. Your needs are valid too. And we just have to be honest, and compromising, and a little creative," she decided slowly. 

The blonde head came down to rest on the stag again. They descended into silence for a few moments before Lexa shifted, free hand reaching into the bedside drawer. Running something over her for a moment, Clarke jolted alert, frowning as something cool and damp touched her cheek.

"Makeup wipes."

"If you clean me, does that mean you'll like me and want to keep me?"

"So what if I do?"


	12. 2:35 am

When Clarke came to, stretching and snuggling closer the warm body nestled beside her, something was off. Her fingers sleepily explored the slumbering form... she was touching a dog. Reaching her hand further and patting blindly, she could feel no trace of Lexa. Disoriented, she found her phone resting on the headboard. It was pitch black. What time was it? Her lockscreen told her that is was 2:35 A.M., and that she had four missed calls from her mom. Oh god, she had silenced her phone and forgot to check in with her-- she could just go ahead and assume that her mom thought she had been abducted or jailed. She shot a quick text.   
  
Clarke Griffin @ 2:35 am: Im fine mom sorry just forgot my phone  
  
Her mom could be anxious about her at times, but she couldn't hold that against her so easily, not since they had lost Dad. Crawling from the bed, she searched for something to wear, choosing the bathrobe hung on the back of Lexa's bedroom door. Donning it, she padded quietly off in search of Lexa.  
  
She found the woman in the dark and the silence of the living room, cross legged on the couch in a pullover, some boxer shorts, and her glasses. Her elegant, serene features were bathed in the soft glow of the television, a controller in her hands. Across the screen roamed a little cartoon girl with a butterfly net. She was dressed in a black and white business suit, a white shirt, and aviator glasses.  
  
"Hello, Clarke," she greeted her quietly, without turning around. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"  
  
"What are you doing," Clarke murmured somnolently.  
  
"Couldn't sleep. Getting myself sleepy again."  
  
"Okay..." Clarke trailed off, her eyes going to the screen. A honeycomb fell out of the tree, followed by a cloud of insects, which the character caught in a net.   
  
“Lexa,” Clarke queried. She couldn’t not ask. She’d toss and turn all night, thinking about it. “Is this part of it? Is it me being here, in your bed?"  
  
“Part of what, Clarke,” came the low murmur from the couch. The little concierge ran around the screen, shaking trees.   
  
“Part of you being... different?”  
  
“Yes, Clarke. I wake up at this time every night. It’s extremely common. Go get some sleep.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I’ll be there in a moment. I have to catch five bugs...”


	13. Morning After (Explicit) (Lexa’s POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long, rambling blocks of text. If it is hard for you to read and follow, comment and let me know; perhaps I can post a cleaner version.

Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, illuminating the room in a glow usually reserved for the golden hour. Because Lexa had forgotten to draw the blackout curtain closed, and she had therefore only succeeded in sleeping for five hours, so far. She was propped up on her side, pensively watching the soft rise and fall of the blankets next to her. Her eyes traveled to the golden waves spilling across the pillow-- at least fifty distinct tones of blonde that undulated and shone, framing the sweet face smushed against the pillow. The perfectly-shaped arch of Clarke's brow, the long, dark fans of lashes topping her cheeks. Lexa reached her fingers to trace the exquisite plane of Clarke's nose as softly as she humanly could, a thumb moving to brush the soft, full, berry-pink lips with equal care. She was glad that she had removed Clarke's makeup, not as a dirty trick or anything, but so that she could appreciate the woman in unadulterated beauty. A sunned arm and shoulder rested atop the bedding. The toes that poked from the duvet were colored a pearlescent pink, like tiny seashells. Was she one of those girls that went to the beach in the sun with her friends on the weekends? That seemed most likely.

Now. Moving on, how the hell had she wound up in Lexa's bed? Lexa recalled the beginning. She had been secretly chagrined by Clarke's perfection. Even intimidated. This is why security was a good career track for her; in all its simplicity, it was a job that really suited a 'resting bitchface'. People liked to talk, and say that dogs can smell fear, but that wasn't really true. It was humans that could smell fear, and the pretty, social girls could detect it like a shark detects a particle of blood in the ocean: materializing from the deep, and lurking in droves around an already injured marine creature. Ready to devour it. But dolphins, Lexa supposed, were far more sadistic as far as marine predators went, and perhaps one of the only animals capable of bullying, even murder for the sheer entertainment of it... _Shut up, Lexa._

Had it not have been for the Elevator Entrapment, as she would forever title that incident in her mind, she and Clarke would probably have shared the same buildings for years and years, without sharing so much as a clipped greeting. Perhaps it was that Clarke was vulnerable in the elevator; not in the way that Lexa viewed the unshrouded selves of idiots who didn't know they were on camera. She knew what it was. She had empathized with Clarke. Shared experience. The basis of human connection. And the second element that worked out well for her was that she had _listened_ to Clarke. Asked her about herself, and simply let her talk. Lexa had sincerely listened, rather than monopolizing the conversation or thinking about what she was going to say while she impatiently waited her turn. 

Normal people called this socializing, she supposed. 

Now Clarke was stirring, her eyes slowly opening, orienting herself, remembering. When her eyes focused on Lexa, she smiled widely and stretched. She did that as soon as she saw Lexa. Was this what people liked so much about infants? Lexa thought it was slightly narcissistic, the way normal people were obsessed with their offspring. But narcissism served a function, at certain points of reproduction and development. _Shut up, Lexa._

"Good morning, Clarke," she murmured. She should probably smile. Clarke adjusted her head on the pillow, and simply looked fondly into her eyes. Now this; this was minorly uncomfortable. Lexa kissed her to make it stop. Perfect solution. Clarke hummed into the kiss, and it was a musical sound. Her breath didn't taste like morning breath, which was a huge surprise and a relief, otherwise they would be in an entirely new bind... _Shut up, Lexa._

She smelled like tea: tuberose, bergamot, almond, vanilla or maybe tonka bean, with a candy-ish twist Lexa couldn't put her finger on. She had been obsessed with fragrances once. _Shut up, Lexa._ When they brushed their lips together, when it deepened, it made Lexa's lips tingle pleasantly. She took one of Clarke's between her teeth, appreciating its supple plumpness, the minty, milky taste of her, as she reached a hand up to finger a soft lock of hair. Clarke's fingers were coursing over her scalp and it felt so, so good. Their bodies edged tightly together, Clarke's taut nipples brushing against her chest. Lexa felt a pleasant warmth growing steadily between her legs to match the one on her lips, and now, her breasts. Sometimes-- make that most of the time, Lexa didn't know what she was feeling at the time that she felt it, but right now she knew the word for it: arousal. 

She wanted to drag her lips all the fuck over Clarke's body, so she did, starting at her throat. Sweet-smelling hair tickled the bridge of her nose as she felt out the warm, delicate crook of Clarke's neck; the girl was moaning and it sounded hypnotic. Pushing up, Lexa leaned over her, skirting her lips over Clarke's collarbone, peeling the cover back to reveal her full, softly heaving breasts. With an adoring hum, Lexa lowered her head to them, palming them, kissing them softly, kissing them firmly, mouthing the sensitive expanse of skin underneath, where the woman's flesh was impossibly soft and delicate. She worked her way up to a hardening nipple, pink, like the flesh of a strawberry, and took it between her warm lips sucking as softly as she could. This elicited a delighted sound from Clarke. She worked at sucking and teasing it to a swollen point, exposing her teeth and worrying it as gently as possible. The fingers in her hair clutched tighter. It felt good. Releasing it and dropping several impulsive kisses about the surrounding flesh, she wandered her mouth over to Clarke's other nipple. The blonde's hips were undulating readily against her body, cradling her trunk between two perfect thighs. 

Lexa had to pause to inch herself down Clarke's body, but she kept her mouth on Clarke's sternum as she did so. That was where the heart was. Anatomically. There, and slightly to the left. As Lexa continued down Clarke's body, she wasn't sure how much attention to pay to Clarke's stomach. She adored the softening, womanly curves of Clarke's body, but she also knew several things to suggest that Clarke was self-conscious about her weight. She decided reluctantly to skip that part until she knew better what to do, backing down the bed and teasing her lips up Clarke's thighs instead. She could already smell Clarke's arousal. It was heady, tangy and uniquely addicting; it added to that heat between Lexa's own legs. Eagerly but methodically, she worked her way back up until she reached the neatly-trimmed patch of brassy curls topping her bucking pubis. The more anticipation, the better. 

Her inner lips puffy with arousal, delicately curling inwards, with so many hues of pink— she looked like a Georgia O’Keefe painting. Vaginas looked like Georgia O’Keefe paintings because Georgia O’Keefe paintings looked like vaginas. Clarke was an artist; she had probably learned about Georgia O’Keefe in school and could appreciate that reference. Perhaps even be impressed by it. 

“You look like a Georgia O’Keefe painting.”

_Was that the right thing to say right now?_ Whatever. Lexa planted a kiss right to the slippery, heated flesh and Clarke mewled with pleasure. She licked Clarke with a flat tongue, working from the outside in, relishing the buttery taste and the heat and the slickness. She didn’t have to think; she just had to enjoy. Her own toes curled in satisfaction and her hums joined Clarke's little sounds of unbridled delight. She wrapped one arm around one of those perfect thighs, skimming her fingers absently over it, while her other hand snaked up the blonde's body, her palm coming to rest on Clarke's solar plexus. She would need that, for later. To be aware of it. 

It's taken for granted that the clitoris swells when aroused, but not many people are aware that the clitoris retracts back into the hood right before orgasm. Lexa's tongue probed Clarke's entrance-- where the majority of the nerve endings in the vagina resided, moaning at the generous amount of wetness she found there. _Check her breathing._ Lexa had taken first aid courses at work, and listened with rapt detail, hoarding the information. Clarke was not breathing. Lexa's hand unwound itself from Clarke's thigh, slipping itself in the fingers that were clutching a knot of sheets tightly. Shaky fingers took her up on her offer. She was so close. Lexa felt aroused. With her. _For_ her. _Breathe, sweet girl._

_“Breathe,”_ Lexa paused the furious actions of her tongue to remind Clarke. She sucked in a noisy breath.She moved up to Clarke’s clit, giving it insistent sucks. The girl above her splayed her thighs in excitement. 

"Breathe," she reminded Clarke again, squeezing her trembling hand. _There it is. Good girl._ Clarke needed to focus on her body. Lexa kept at her clit; her jaw ached, her tongue felt limp but she _had_ to keep doing exactly what she was doing. 

"Breathe," she murmured into her folds again. _Don't think, Clarke, just feel._ The moans elevated in octave and in volume, and Lexa just felt like she was being fed a current of one thousand volts from Clarke's body, in the best of ways. She added her own loud whine to Clarke's cries as the girl stiffened. Oh _God._ _Ohgodohgodohgodohgod..._ she gentled on Clarke's clit as the girl came spastically on her tongue, nearly shaking with sympathetic pleasure as she went to Clarke's entrance, mopping up everything the woman above had to give her until she was sagging, exhausted into the mattress. Lexa laid her head against Clarke's thigh, stroking her fingers idly as she licked every last trace of arousal from Clarke's deep pink folds. She stayed there until she felt Clarke gently urging her upwards. 

"Have you ever considered," she proposed to Clarke as soon as her mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, "That you struggle to orgasm to forget to breathe?" She was familiar with sort of look Clarke responded with. It meant _'Are you serious, right now?'_ It wasn't look-ed to her in a bad way. 

"Come and hold me," Clarke begged, her voice raw. Because her brain was marinating in oxytocin, and this was how people bonded through sexual intercourse. Like the newborn thing. Sometimes, Lexa thought she must not have had very much oxytocin when her brain was developing, and was fucked up for that reason. She hated being held, but she could sure hold Clarke, if that was what the blonde wanted. The blonde felt delicate and feminine in her arms. She liked holding her close to her chest. 

"Lexa, did you hear me?"

She shook her head truthfully. "I was thinking about how good you feel in my arms. What did you say?"

"I said, it's gorgeous." Clarke was thoughtfully fingering an antler of a stag that stretched across Lexa's collarbone. "What does it mean?"

“It’s a patronus,” came Lexa’s placid cadence. Did Clarke know what patronuses were, or was she simply talking gibberish?

“Potterhead?”

“A little. But I like the idea of a totem. Totems have always been a significant theme in folklore,” Lexa thought out loud. “J.K. Rowling, though many other things, is not actually a font of original ideas...” She cut herself short, pursing her lips. “We can talk about something else,” she suggested courteously. 

“We don’t have to talk at all.”


	14. We Don't Have to Talk About Anything At All (Explicit) (Clarke POV)

  
_“We don’t have to talk about anything at all.”_

Clarke thought that suggestion seemed reasonable; Lexa had really rocked her world, and she had a mind to return the favour. She hadn’t gotten the chance last night, but she wanted to taste this girl; fuck this girl. Lexa was so turned on and ready. She could feel it soaking through the seat of her boy-shorts when she snuck a hand down to cup Lexa’s sex through them, eliciting a groan from the girl. That was really convenient, because she had zero patience for foreplay right now.

Pushing herself eagerly down Lexa’s lissome form, she attacked the woman’s thighs with her mouth, kissing her ravenously. Her hands reached up to drag down Lexa’s underwear and the scent of her was intoxicating. Leaning hungrily in, she was jolted to her senses by fingers threading themselves through her hair, tugging her gently upwards.

“I wanna eat your cunt,” she told Lexa truthfully. The upward urging persisted. Not forcing, but definitely insistent.

“Just… um…” Lexa said, inarticulately.

Clarke met Lexa’s eyes, confused, and perhaps pouting a little. She didn’t want to be selfish, or someone in bed that simply took and never gave, and besides that, she just wanted to eat some pussy. Was there anything wrong with that? “Wanna make you feel good, too,” she mumbled, half-concerned, half-pouting.

“Clarke, _just please_.” Lexa requested plaintively. Her expression when she said this was genuinely... seeking. Asking something of Clarke. Cooperation, consent... understanding, perhaps. 

“Just relax about it… let me do what works right now,” Lexa breathed, flipping them over, rocking her slick sex against Clarke’s thigh imploringly. The blonde opened her mouth to ask another unsure question, but thought the better of it, and shut it, sharing a gaze with Lexa. 

Remembering something, Clarke reached a hand up to the woman’s chest, teasing her nails slowly over it. Because Lexa had shown her last night, that’s what she could do to turn her on. And maybe she should just take the poor, horny woman who had lived with her body for thirty years more than Clarke at her word, instead of second-guessing because it wasn’t normal. _Common sense, Griffin._ Her thoughts were interrupted by a low, sexy groan. The brunette’s eyes were shut, her face serene. _Oh, she was enjoying this._ Clarke just traced as she looked, as artists are best at. Inspired, intrigued, definitely a little turned on.

She watched the expressions wash over Lexa’s face, each in turn unique and completely genuine. Her jaw worked open… she would cant her head… Close her mouth again… bite her lip. Oh my god. As she fucked herself against Clarke’s thigh, her lithe muscle rolling with courteously constrained power under that smooth, inky skin… she had a water-colour tattoo of a rose sprouting from concrete on her left oblique. _Did that mean something?_ Clarke would point it out when she saw it again. 

Lexa’s delectable, dusky nipples were taut on her small breasts, and a pinky, water-colour background was quickly appearing beneath her body art. Sexual flush. Clarke noted with awe that even if she coursed her nails as gently as she could over Lexa’s décolleté, a vivid pink flush would materialize in its wake. The blonde’s eyes roved the brunette with her fingers, utterly rapt. 

She wanted to draw her. And paint her. Outline her, shade her, make it abstract, make it real. Light her and photograph her. Shoot macros of the most delicious parts. From her tousled chestnut waves, down to the manicured triangle of dark curls and the splash of deep pink where her labia crushed gently against the flesh of Clarke’s thigh.

Lexa sagged forward, humping against Clarke with more force, tucking her face into the crook of her arm to catch the tender skin there between her teeth, bearing down gently. The blonde raised a tentative hand to stop her, but decided to drop it. Lexa descended onto her, hiding her face firmly in the crook of Clarke’s neck. 

The want struck Clarke to tuck Lexa’s hair behind her ear, nuzzle her lips against it and just let the words come out, so she did so. “Lexa, sweetie, Lexa, Lexa, fuck me… It’s so good; you’re so good, feel it, baby…” Her gaze drifted down the lithe back as she traced her fingers down it, skimming the perspiration collecting on it, murmuring encouragement to the woman as she watched her hips work harder and faster, with increasing urgency, into her thigh. “Fuck, baby, you’re so close… keep going, baby, come for me…” A long, low, sweet whine answered her.

It turned into a flurry of short, sharp pants into Clarke’s neck and Lexa clung to her stiffly, shaking violently, some parts of her body more than others. For a good while. Eventually, Lexa’s soft, full weight was relaxing gradually, serenely onto Clarke’s body. _Did she come?_ For as long as she needed, Lexa remained draped in unmoving contentment on top of Clarke as the blonde tenderly rubbed her back. 

“That was so hot,” she told Clarke as soon as her brain could make words again, and Clarke felt good at that. She lay where she had collapsed on Clarke’s chest, panting for... however glorious minutes— _hours—_ days, until her breathing returned to normal, stiffening her arms out with a sonorous “mmmmmm”, stretching like a cat before slowly pushing herself up above Clarke. She allowed her weight to rest on Clarke’s pelvis as her gaze wandered pensively to where they were joined. Her fingers soon followed, and she combed her fingers tenderly through the sensitized folds, studying thoughtfully. 

_Was she not exhausted? Because Clarke sure was._ Thought _she was._

The green eyes had locked with hers when she next looked. Lexa raised her two fingers to her kiss-swollen lips, cleaning her wetness from them as she regarded Clarke. _Hungrily._ She only broke the silence when she had sucked every last bit of wetness from her digits. 

“Clarke, turn around... Clarke,” she stopped and started again, “ _would you like_ to turn around?”

The artist blinked. She had just been laid back in the pillows, taking it all in. Savouring the sight of this— insanely hot, intense, creative, fucking relentless creature above her. Here, she found her arms pushing herself up, clambering to her knees and raising her ass into the air complicity as Lexa moved behind her. 

She spent the next stretch of the morning whimpering, crying, groaning, occasionally yelling every sound and curse she goddamn well pleased into the pillow. Lexa’s walls were thin, but they apparently were not caring about that. Even Titus joined in for the highlights, howling from the living room couch. Clarke practically passed out into the pillows when they came apart at last, snuggling down into the blankets, shattered, reassembled and fulfilled in every way. 


	15. Survival of the Fittest

From the kitchen floated the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and Lexa’s muttering. 

_“Back in the day I dip my shirt in dirt_   
_Sometimes I got away clean, sometimes people got hurt_   
_But if you know me, you know that I'm liable_   
_To bust a cap, 'cause it's all about survival of the fittest...”_

Right, the rap. Clarke wandered into the kitchen, lifting a foot up immediately. Was the floor wet? _Had she mopped?_

_“I'm a menace crook_   
_I did so much dirt I need to be in the Guinness Book_   
_From the shit I took from people_   
_I reap all your fat shit, jack...”_

At the kitchen counter, Lexa was up and dressed, hair thrown into a ponytail, a comfortable sleeveless shirt and jogging shorts from which her legs descended for… miles. She scooped fruit and measured powders into a blender was Titus watched attentively. She had in headphones. 

_“Back to the criminals sect_   
_I leave crew after crew but they can't catch me yet_   
_'Cause I'm slick as slippery_   
_They can't get with me, cops ain't shit to me”_

She tossed a frozen blueberry to Titus, catching Clarke but not acknowledging her as she collected up the bags and tubs. Compulsively, she finished the last verse to Titus.

_“I can't dig a pig, so I drop the dogs_   
_And sweat ‘em like sweathogs_   
_And get mad, mad 'cause I'm the nigga that flaunt it,_   
_AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted._

“Good morning, Clarke,” she segued without turning around before warning, “Loud noise.”

“What? Oh.”

Lexa winced, hitting the blender. When it was done, she took her headphones out, carefully putting them in the case and pocketing them, eyeing Clarke from head to toe. Only having her dress, she had no choice but to go into Lexa’s wardrobe and borrow a pair of spandex shorts, the only ones not fit for Lexa’s narrow hips, and a roomy cutoff shirt with a kitschy depiction of a dog on the front, presumably acquired from an animal rescue. _Was that alright? Was she intruding?_ She probably should have asked. _Why couldn’t she think of this shit before she did it?_ She glanced down self-consciously. 

“Happiness Is a Pitbull Smile,” she read from the shirt nervously. Lexa’s expression revealed nothing as she looked on her. 

“Happiness is braless Clarke wearing a shirt with my favourite dog breed,” Lexa confessed without pause, padding over to her.

“Okay, because I was worried—“ Lexa was cutting her off with a long, soft kiss. “It’s okay,” she whispered against Clarke’s lips.

“Whatcha got going there,” the blonde asked as they parted. “You work out?” She added, pointing to the supplements. 

“Breakfast, and no. Would you like coffee?”

Clarke nodded, feeling very at home thanks to the brunette’s habitual hospitality, if not the environment. Lexa poured her a cup, sliding it to her on the counter. 

“I have no sugar. Or dairy of any sort,” she apologized, next taking the smoothie and dividing it into two cups. 

“Lexa, don’t even worry about it,” Clarke smoothed. “I’m good with anything.”

Lexa pulled a chair out at the kitchen table and she slid into it, swinging her feet thoughtfully, looking around, starting to feel a bit at home. An idea struck her. Something she could do to help. Helping was always what made her feel most at home. She decided to run it by Lexa instead of just jumping up and doing it. 

“You know, if you show me where you keep your pans and stuff, I could get some breakfast going,” Clarke ventured quickly. The puttering at the kitchen counter ceased. Lexa wasn’t facing her. She was regarding the stove absently. 

_Uh oh. Oops. Was this breakfast? This was breakfast, wasn’t it._ Lexa was now prepared to return that serve. 

“If it makes a difference to you, I can order something up for you from Hustle,” Lexa proposed coolly. “But the smoothie is loaded with a lot of stuff. It doesn’t taste wonderful but it’s got everything you need, and it’s pretty filling…”

 _What to do? How to fix this? How bad even was this?_ Taking a sip seemed like the best start. Lexa didn’t notice; she reaching for a tub of some sort of nutritional powder, twisting the ingredients label her way and launching in, blushing faintly.

“Frozen fruit, spinach, powdered greens, rice protein, MCT oil…,” Lexa was rattling on, oblivious to the anxiety that flashed briefly across the blonde’s features. She looked into the cup. _How many calories had Lexa crammed into her concoction?_ She set the glass down. On the coaster. 

“Eggs…” Clarke mused out loud. “Do you have enough eggs for two of us?”

“I have more than enough eggs,” Lexa confirmed with relief, going to the fridge and withdrawing a Tupperware container. She passed it to Clarke at the kitchen table. 

“Lexa, what are these?”

“I boiled them all.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well…”

Lexa removed the lid, hastily snacking on one while she remembered, offering to Clarke next. 

“It’s Sunday, Lex, we’re not gonna eat standing up,” she chuckled, declining the container of eggs. There were at least eight. “I meant, like, _real_ breakfast: eggs over-easy, hash browns, pancakes, sausages…” Alright, now she was fantasizing. She was long overdue, herself, for a decent breakfast.

Lexa was studying the contents of the fridge in silence. Her shoulder sagged almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know how to cook that for you,” she confessed without turning around. She let the fridge door fall shut. 

“Well, that’s—,” Clarke began to respond. 

“I could learn on Youtube,” Lexa proposed, daunted no longer. She snatched for a pen from the magnetic cup on the fridge, uncapping it and beginning to print onto one of the whiteboard lists, " _Look up how to—"_ Clarke rose from the table and reached a tentative hand to Lexa’s arm, pausing her. 

“Lexa— hold up,” she asked of the brunette. Lips pursed in concentration, Lexa completed the sentence " _—cook normal breakfast",_ before turning her attention to Clarke. “If you’re willing to let other people help you, you don’t have to power through it all yourself just to keep pace...”

Clarke tucked her hair behind her ear, biting her lip as she pondered her question. Was it too personal, too fast? She just cared, that was all. Maybe they hadn’t known each-other for that long, but they had shared a bed once, and several incredible orgasms. She was standing here the morning after, there was that, too. _Fuck it._

“Do you ever get a hand with this stuff from your family?“

“We haven’t spoken in eleven years,” Lexa responded factually, executing the reply with perfect nonchalance. _This was not a topic to be probed._ Clarke sensed that outright. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she told the brunette sincerely, reaching a hand to touch her shoulder. It was stiff. And not because Lexa didn’t have feelings. Because she was protecting them with commitment, strategy, and everything she had, really. 

“There is another complication with breakfast,” Lexa forged ahead, indicating a list on the fridge, printed from the internet and laminated. “I can only eat these foods.” Clarke studied the categories on a list. It was a strict goddamn diet, if she thought she knew one before. 

“Or else?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Lexa warned her emphatically, her eyebrows shooting up. 

“Well, that is uh, quite the exhaustive—“

“I also avoid refined sugars.”

“Of course you do.” 

Lexa shrugged, wandering back to the counter and taking a sip of her coffee, pondering Titus as he stood before her, pondering her right back. 

“Titus eats the same thing every day; his nutritional needs are met by a single product,” she commented. “That must be nice.”

“You have no palate, do you,” Clarke giggled with good-natured incredulity.

“If you could only eat bread that tastes like recycled newspaper, neither would you,” Lexa observed idly. They both smiled at that. Like, really smiled. She raised a tattooed arm to the lists and the charts. “When I get my groceries, I will pick up some things… Normal human food.” Clarke felt butterflies. _Did Lexa realize she was doing that? Planning for Clarke to come back?_ She bit her lip, privately elated. 

An idea struck Clarke. “Would you like me to come with you,” tried thoughtfully. Shopping… tasks other people would think nothing of, that was something that people with sensory processing issues sometimes struggled with, right? All of that, before you even considered the complicated diet. Maybe some help would be appreciated.

Lexa’s brows knit subtly, her lips parting in concentration as her gaze wandered out the living room window. Seconds crept past, frozen. At last she spoke, raising one finger slowly. “I need a moment to think,” she explained. Clarke nodded quickly, her brows raising disarmingly. Lexa had disappeared into the kitchen, her eyes going pensively from the fridge to the window. And, for a moment, Clarke kind of saw it— the intellectual chugging away of that pretty head: The schedule, the grocery list, Clarke’s offer, the risks, the benefits, the potential difficulties. Lexa sipped her coffee absently. Titus had wandered over to look at her expectantly.

“Clarke,” she spoke at last.

Motioning to the whiteboard on the fridge, Lexa summoned her. Pushing herself up from the sofa, Clarke sipped her coffee as she padded over. 

“This is everything I’m low on. By aisle, starting in the pharmacy. We’ll get it at Roots Foods. It shouldn’t be busy. Get in, get out,” she set out. 

“Are we talking a recon mission or a shopping trip?” Clarke teased Lexa gently, watching the woman study the list. 

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” Lexa confided in that swift deadpan. 

A cold nose poked Clarke’s calf, startling her. She turned to see the dog smiling beatifically at her. 

“We can take Titus,” Lexa thought out loud. “They let me take him the store. He fucking loves it.”

“Yeah,” Clarke cooed to the dog, “you’re being recruited, boy!”

Lexa drew back from the fridge, pulling out her phone to snap a picture of the list. Pocketing it, she gestured to Clarke’s coffee. “Wanna take it with you?”

“Oh, that would be great!” 

Lexa went to the cupboard, selecting one of several black travel mugs and pouring Clarke’s coffee into it. 

“Your mugs are very… black…”

“They’re tactical.”

“Of course they are.”

Lexa idly mouthed lyrics as they gathered the necessary items for the trip, leashed Titus and donned their shoes. 

“Clarke, did you know,” she thought out loud. “That the majority of what we consider to be most successful rappers of all time never actually completed their GEDs?”

_Was this flirting?_


	16. Sorry for Ranting.

Lexa knew the way to Roots Foods, but Titus knew it better, and was less patient to get there. He would forge ahead of them and Lexa would hold fast and throw her weight on the leash and utter a single syllable in that poised tone she had, _heel_ , and Titus would glance up to her and fall back into place beside her.

Enamored a bit, Clarke complimented her on her training of Titus. Lexa seemed a little less guarded of her thoughts while she was physically walking, for some reason.

“Well, dogs best understand repetition and routine and I do that compulsively, so why would he not understand me,” she quizzed Clarke. _Well wow. Go fucking figure._ “It’s okay if you feel a little silly when I point out the obvious,” she assured Clarke. “A lot of people do, but I’m not trying to make you feel stupid, we just see things differently… Speaking of, hey, look— a crackpipe.”

They continued their tour through the neighbourhood.

“Where are we going,” Clarke asked curiously.

“To the more gentrified part of town, which is where you would find a Roots Foods, obviously.” Clarke didn’t know what to say to that. Lexa slipped her hand into Clarke’s. The blonde slipped into a thoughtful silence and Lexa slipped into a here and there narration of things she saw that she considered interesting.

“It’s okay if you don’t know where you’re going,” Lexa assured her, “Titus will make sure we don’t get run the fuck over. He’s got a far better preservation instinct than me.”

Clarke giggled at that, but quickly lapsed into morose silence. She knew Lexa couldn’t help it, but she was extremely frank in pointing out what she saw, and what it meant. It had been fascinating, in the beginning, but a lot of what Lexa saw was by most people’s standards, extremely sad— even if Lexa spun it like a 60 Minutes documentary on the seedy underbelly of the Polis.

“Clarke, am I making you sad,” Lexa remembered to ask her eventually, glancing to the girl to check in with her.

“No! It’s really interesting,” Clarke insisted.

“Well I’m gonna ask you one more time, just to check,” Lexa warned her after a thoughtful pause, “before I take you literally and accidentally give you a mood disorder.”

“Okay, well. Maybe a little… Yeah, I guess I actually try and ignore this sort of thing because it makes me sad, and here you are pointing it out to me, so…”

“It’s okay if you’d like to ignore it, Clarke,” Lexa told her. “You can’t fix it, so really, what else can you do?”

Fuck. Clarke was still getting used to… how… goddamn _deep_ this girl was.

_“_ Can I show you something before we change the topic,” Lexa asked her hopefully, “It’s not quite so sad. It’s the total opposite. It’s actually how I stop myself from going fucking nuts from having to see this stuff.”

Clarke looked unsurely to Lexa, and she could tell the brunette was really excited to show her this.

“Okay,” she agreed. Lexa was towing her. Toward a lady huddled in the alcove of a convenience store, on a flattened piece of cardboard. The woman looked twenty-something going on forty-five, a rat’s nest of a blonde wig piled on top of her head. Her face was sallow, and blemished with scabs. She was thin. Her shirt was dirty, her jeans were torn, she wore flip-flops on her filthy feet. “Three rules,” Lexa briefed Clarke quickly. “Just hold my hand, smile, and let me do the talking.”

When they approached, the homeless woman kept her eyes trained on the sign before her “BROKE. SLEEPING ROUGH BAD BOYFRIEND ANY CHANGE HELPS.”

“Hi there,” Lexa opened for them. The junkie gazed mutely at the sign, but Lexa just pressed forward. “I don’t have any money for you, because I don’t carry cash, but I think my dog would like to say hi, and I just wanted to ask if that’s okay, first.”

They waited for a few moments. Clarke felt downright uneasy about this. This seemed dangerous; what the hell were they doing? Lexa stroked her hand with her thumb, the other leash wrapped around Titus, waiting patiently. The junkie looked at the dog first.

“Aww, hi, boy,” she cooed, extending a hand out for Titus to sniff, “Ohhh my goddd, he is sooo cute! I love pitbulls!”

“Thanks, so do I; I think they're the best dogs,” Lexa agreed, “If I didn’t, I guess I wouldn’t have him, huh?”

The lady looked up to her, letting forth a laugh that was loud and a little weird but definitely genuine.

“I like this girl,” she enthused to Clarke, her eyes actually smiling a bit. “Damn, don’t let go of her, she calls it like it is.” She was nodding to Lexa appraisingly.

“That’s kind of what I do,” Lexa responded casually. “She’s not my girlfriend, by the way.” She sank into thought, holding a hand to pause the conversation. “With any luck, the first thing won’t fuck up the second one, eh, because I’m always sticking my foot in my mouth.”

The woman was laughing as she thumped Titus’ flank, who was in a state of ecstasy, by the way. Lexa looked to him. “He knows how it is,” she observed, “He sticks his foot in his mouth all the time.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” the woman on the sidewalk grinned.

“That’s really all I aim for,” Lexa told her, and of course, she wasn’t wrong. “Anyways. We were going to the store. Thanks for talking to us, and thanks for petting my dog. Sometimes people don’t want to meet him, because of how he looks.”

The woman on the ground, just smiled and waved. She just seemed more human, for having talked to Lexa, honestly.

“Have a nice day. I hope you get rid of your boyfriend. And I hope things do change for you,” Lexa bade the woman as she patted her thigh, calling Titus back to her. “A dog is a bond between humans. Steinbeck said that,” she told Clarke.

They headed further down the sidewalk, Clarke in stunned silence this time. Holy shit.

“Did that make you feel happier,” Lexa wanted to know. Clarke had to think for a while on that one.

“Yeah,” Clarke decided with conviction. “Yeah, thanks for showing me that! That was really sweet, Lexa, she seemed just… so pleased to be treated like any other person…”

“Did she,” Lexa inquired idly, before looking directly to Clarke. “Clarke, you know I can’t even tell the fucking difference, right? All I know is that she began to talk to me in a different way than she talks to other passers by.”

Clarke was palming her face, just… kind of shook.

“Clarke. Clarke, can we stop, I have to tell you something,” Lexa told her earnestly. “Sit,” she told Titus when Clarke slowed. The brunette turned to face Clarke, but she couldn’t look at her.

“Do you get it now, Clarke, what I add to this world,” Lexa asked, giving no pause for answer. “Homelessness is something sad, that people see, and it really troubles people. It makes them sad if they trust or empathize with these people, so they just don’t do it. They just settle for ignoring them, or hating them. Or maybe they give them some money, for sympathy, which realistically is just to make themselves look better…” She raised her eyes to Clarke’s, driving the point home with her gaze.

“Clarke, we didn’t even give her any money. We didn’t fix her problems, not that twenty dollars would have done that anyways, but for a moment we gave her something nobody— _nobody_ thinks to give her.” Lexa’s voice quavered with emotion now. “We only treated her like a human, Clarke. But it made her feel good, I can tell that. Just part-of, for five minutes. Like she wasn’t behind an invisible wall from society. That’s it!

“People look at this problem and they don’t want to try and help it unless they can totally fix it, so they just don’t even try it all!” She was gesticulating impatiently. “Like… you feel bad for that person? Have you even tried fucking _talking_ to them?” She began to lead the three several steps down the street before halting to turn to Clarke and add something.

“People will fork over fifty dollars for these people, which they then take and score a hit with, but they won’t even dare to shake their hand.” Shaking her head, stunned, she ran a hand through her hair. “This is just where I’m supposed to fit, Clarke. I can _only_ see the obvious. I interact with people based on rules and manners. What do you do when you see a person? Walk up, introduce yourself and shake their hand. Jesus. And they call me the retarded one. Anyways… sorry for subjecting you to that rant,” she apologized. _There went the hand. There went the eyes. She had one more thing to add._

_“_ I guess I was just born with this built-in philosophy. And when I relaxed and accepted it, I found peace. Everything just started making sense. Do you think I’m weird,” she finished with an innocent inquiry.

“No… just… Lexa. Not when you put it that way,” Clarke confessed. “You’re kind of a genius,” she giggled.

“Hey. Well,” Lexa responded, bashfully dismissive. “According to myself, Titus, now you.”

Clarke was shaking her head grinning.

“But don’t go just telling people that shit,” Lexa added warily. “I prefer to manage expectations myself. Hey, look, we’re at the store.”


	17. Hunt and Gather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. It's long and tiring. Just like... you guess.

"So, this is Roots Naturals," Lexa announced as they strolled through the automatic doors, letting go of Clarke's hand to grab a basket. Clarke grabbed one too. "You know, I've never been here before," she added idly.

Clarke blinked. Huh? Had she caught that right?

"Really?"

Lexa offered no reply. She was looking away, half-heartedly concealing her mouth against a tattooed arm, shoulders bouncing. "No," she admitted. She gave her head a shake and glanced to Clarke, offering a small smile. "Please don't take it personally that I poke a little fun at you. I tease girls that I find attractive. Like an eight-year-old boy..." She smirked to herself. "Just don't blame me, please, it's really all I know how to do," she implored apologetically.

Clarke was just a little flattered, to the point of a loss for words.

"You're blushing. You don't know what to say to that... I'll help you," she set out, gazing off again. "It's okay to blush... It's not like it's bad for your health or anything. And god knows, I'm not judging you." She slipped the hand holding Titus' leash into Clarke's, giving it a squeeze. "I'll leave you alone for a bit, how does that sound?"

"Good," Clarke confessed. She was learning quickly that with the way Lexa phrased things and saw things, the only real way to answer her was honestly, and that there wasn't really any answer that could be put past the woman, anyways. As they passed the produce section, a display of grapes caught her eye. She tugged at Lexa's hand. "Hey, these look good, Lex. They're on sale," she pointed out encouragingly.

Lexa regarded them with disinterest, but she stopped. "Well, I probably won't buy them," she explained honestly. "First off, I don't eat them myself because they're actually really high in sugar... and there's no point in getting them for you, because you probably won't be back to my place before they go bad. And finally, I don't shop the produce section 'til the very end. Don't ask why. Maybe so all the stuff won't get crushed by the other things I'm about to put into the basket..." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, they say if you throw them in the freezer, they make good ice cubes or just a nice snack. Could freeze them for smoothies. But if Titus gets into them, he's going to meet his maker. So, that's probably a 'no' on the grapes."

"Well, you presented a pretty solid argument, there," Clarke could only say.

"Thanks," Lexa returned. "I put a lot of thought into it. It's a condition, actually," she added with a wink. "I mean, I could have just told you 'no', but you'd probably ask why. And when I tell people why, they look at me like I'm the crazy one. I'm not trying to whine or anything," she disclaimed. "This is why, if you want to eat something that I don't, you really have to tell me what you want. Preferably come with me, so I don't forget."

"Totally fair," Clarke granted.

"Yeah," Lexa agreed. "And I used to shake my head and wonder why shopping at the grocery store made me so damn tired," she exclaimed quietly, before raising her hand for a pause and stopping, calling up her next train of thought. "So this is sort of my system. I work the store in a certain order. The order, of course, matches the list. Easy enough. If anything catches your eye, just throw it in. Make sense?"

"Yeah, sure," Clarke agreed. Pretty straightforward. She remembered something as she noticed a shopper push a cart by, stopping Lexa. "Do you think we should get a cart? Would that be easier?"

That earned a skeptical glance. "Do you really want me to go there? No."

"Well, now I'm curious," Clarke persisted.

Lexa gave her a look. "Really? Well, I warned you. Let's hold up here." She paused. Lexa swallowed. "I'm gonna try and paraphrase this. Shopping carts... were not always a 'thing'. Huge secret. Some guy who, would you know it, worked in a grocery store got wise to the fact that what he sold in a day was limited by what he could carry out of the store. So. Where do we go from there? Invent a way for them to carry more crap around. Make a bigger basket. Put wheels on it. We're doing good, eh?"

Clarke nodded, impressed by the trivia.

"There's more. Prototype launch time. Put them in front of the store, so people will use them. They don't. Why? They don't know what to do with them. Why? Because they don't see anyone else doing anything with them, and they have nobody to copy. Spoiler alert, that's basically all we do, by the way," she interjected. "So what do we do about this? Jesus, persuade some people to use them, I guess, so everyone will copy them and buy more shit. I didn't come here in a car so why the hell would I want to take more than I can carry with me out of the store, right?"

"Well, wow. You've got it figured out," Clarke admitted. "Kinda wondering why you need my help, to be honest!"

"Well I didn't until you came to my house and started telling me what you wanted for breakfast! Not that I'm holding that against you!!!" She broke off with an amused snort. "Clarke, what you're here for, in case it hasn't dawned on you, is to accommodate me in accommodating you."

"Jesus fucking christ, Lexa, slow down," Clarke was laughing.

"Yeah, I tell myself that all the time," Lexa assured her. "See, you're starting to sound like me already. Anyways. I can't turn this shit off, just to remind you. But it's really refreshing that I don't have to explain everything to you all the time, not that I always mind. Just tiring, you know..." She grabbed some cold cuts, throwing them in the basket. "Don't let me distract you. I notice you, sure, but I'm not judging you. Don't wanna put you under that sort of pressure."

That kind of reassured Clarke. She was able to trust it. Lexa squeezed her hand, just to make sure. Titus was leading them through to the meat department. "Well, we started this journey because you wanted 'real breakfast', did you want some sausages or bacon or something?"

"Everything I say is on the record with you, huh? By the way, I hope you don't mind me asking, but did you train him to do this?" She was observing Titus with interest.

Lexa made a face. "You're treating him like he's some kind of saint. Honestly, he's just doing it because at the end of our route, he gets attention and a cookie at the checkout. They let him here. Probably because we're both well mannered," she observed as Clarke browsed the meats. "He's not a service dog; did you know those certificates aren't recognized by law usually? More often than not they're just a scam."

"Wow. That's kind of underhanded," Clarke commented.

"I don't know. That's true. But on the upside, when I explained that whole thing to the management, they were interested. And they didn't ask me to buy some stupid certificate and vest off eBay."

"Well, good thing you educated them," the blonde responded. "Good thing they listened."

Lexa shrugged. "Hey, well, I kind of just tried asking them politely and assuming they wouldn't be assholes about it. Besides, I see shoplifters. That 'down-and-up' thing, remember? And I have a scary-looking dog. Titus, Roots and I have a good thing going."

"They say it never hurts to ask, I guess."

"Well, it can sometimes, but... Yeah..." Lexa sank into thought. "Anyways. Here, now, we don't need the vest. That belongs to people who are... hm..." She was working on it. "Well... really, asked to prove by anyone why their dog is in a public space there when they themselves know their dog is certified. Like... I don't know... I get that it's not the job of staff to know what a legit service dog is. Greedy people selling eBay vests have made that really fucking hard for everyone. But still... those poor people who are told their service dog is not allowed in the building... when they know for a fact it is!

"You know, that actually happens?" Lexa was informing Clarke excitedly. "I read about this blind guy who was kicked out of an airport bar because he had a seeing-eye dog? Like... what the hell. He's blind. The dog has a guide vest on. It's sad anyone felt the need to think that poor blind guy was just another person with a fake service dog, trying to bullshit his way everywhere with his pet... Anyways... I guess you want eggs too, that I haven't boiled already?"

"This girl thinks of everything."

"Well, I can't help it," said Lexa. "It's pathological."

_Oops._

"Lexa, I'm really sorry I brought that up--"

"Clarke, I'm kidding," Lexa reassured her, perhaps guiltily, but not outright apologizing. She turned her head to the blonde to address her. "This is what you're getting yourself into, just reminding you."

"Enough with the disclaimers!"

"I wasn't disclaiming that time. I was threatening," Lexa qualified slyly after a moment's pause. They drifted down the aisle. "On a level, I wasn't," Lexa added thoughtfully. "I attempt humor, and sometimes it just comes off wrong. I literally can't tell unless I outright ask if I'm offending. People try to be nice, they aren't direct with me, and just wonder in silence why I'm being mean to them. That's not my intent."

Clarke had to think on that a bit. "I can get that."

"Hey, all you have to do is your best. That's good enough for me... That's why I love my job so much. Have you seen my coworkers? They can take a few hits on the head. Literally, and metaphorically." She snorted reflectively. "I mean, have you seen what we do? People get mad at us for no reason, for things we can't control, and our job is to apologize for it. It's like basic training. For life." She stopped short. "What the fuck were we doing? Where's my list?" She questioned irately.

"I think you got off track when you started philosophizing," Clarke teased her.

Lexa was palming her face, pulling out her phone, but she was smiling as she checked it. "Just pointing something out," she continued, "This is why I can't go play nicely with the other girls. I can't talk and shop at the same time. Put me in a mall, and I don't know what the fuck to do. It's like landing on another planet. Sorry, but it is. It's okay. I'm cool with it. They give me clothes to wear at work. I got them for free. Nice and easy. Solved that problem my own way. Not apologizing for it."

"Thanks for explaining your system to me," Clarke indulged her.

"Well, you're welcome. I love doing that, if you haven't noticed."

"Lexa. List."

"Right. I'll stop finding excuses to rant about my job. I promise. Back on track. Lactose-free yogurt. Right ahead," the brunette apologized humbly. "You're good at this, by the way."

They worked methodically down the aisles, Clarke just trailed and browsed. Titus and Lexa apparently knew where they were going. Clarke blinked for a moment as she watched Lexa stop to throw something into her basket. She had the strange sense... Was she surprised? This hadn't been what she was expecting, that's for sure. Clarke turned distractedly toward some organic nachos. The two seemed not to notice.

Idly scanning the chips, Clarke found herself shaking her head. Why did it feel odd that she had to keep up with them? Had she really expected to come here to hold Lexa's hand? It would have been nice, she'd admit, if it was done for the right reasons. Could she catch up and just take Lexa's hand? Would the brunette take it the wrong way?

"Clarke." Starting, she turned guiltily to Lexa. Titus was turned to her expectantly. "Clarke. Do you see anything you want? Throw it in."

Clarke turned wistfully back to the selection, making her call and putting in the basket. She looked up to Lexa and Titus, who had meandered back behind her. Extending a long arm over Clarke's shoulder Lexa grabbed a second bag and dropped it in.

"You'll eat your chips, Titus will want them. He's persuasive. Let's not stand here and pretend like that won't happen."

"Fair enough," Clarke agreed, eyeing the pitbull as he regarded her, looking... Both like he didn't know what was going on and had figured it all out for himself. Simply, he just looked happy to be there.

"It's a special occasion for him," Lexa reasoned distractedly. "I'm actually impressed with how he's handling it. I walked in..." She paused, ducking her head subtly in amusement, "Knowing there was a small chance we'd never be allowed back here."

"Well, I don't believe you have it in you, bud," Clarke reassured the fawning dog with a stroke of the ears. Lexa had stopped in her tracks, hands poised animatedly.

"Clarke. Hear me when I say..." She worked her jaw as she regarded the dog. "There's always a tiny chance of Titus just doing his own fucking thing... I won't say it's not hilarious when it happens," Lexa smiled to her dog. "I like him, Clarke," she addressed the blonde. "I just... I love him. Every once in a while, somebody's gotta stand up and just take me the hell to school. C'mon." They moved forward again. "I think I've just gave him an idea..." She commented idly "Dunno how I feel about that yet."

As they went through the grocery store, Lexa drifted into distraction, pointing out everything she saw. "Did you know they pour chemicals into orange juice to make each batch uniform in color and taste? Nevermind. Sorry if I wrecked orange juice for you... That kind in the bottom of the cooler is legit though... That ice cream's actually really good. It's all I'd ever buy before I broke down and admitted that I'm lactose intolerant... Do you like vegan dairy, Clarke?"

They were stalled in the frozen section, eyeing the selection of vegan ice cream carefully.

"It kind of tastes like shit," Clarke confessed bashfully.

"Agreed. I went there once. Trying vegan. Came right back," Lexa smiled upon the memory. "I just... I just don't like coconut. I don't want it watered down and frozen in my ice cream. That's gross. Let's go."

In the next aisle, Clarke stopped short. Cinnamon Toast Crunch was on sale. Cereal would be handy for Lexa to have at her house, right? The woman pursed her lips as her eyes drifted to the price again. Two dollars off. Not bad. She didn't know if she wanted to get them, though. What would Lexa think? She glanced down the aisle to where Lexa was hauling Titus' head out of the shopping basket. Lexa didn't eat any sugar. Clarke had tried that once, but she just couldn't commit to it. She had never succeeded in cutting out sugar for maybe a week at most, and at one point had stopped trying. Besides, for a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, she didn't want to buy a little kid's cereal in front of Lexa. It seemed-- she started as a long arm extended over her shoulder, picking the cereal and dropping it in her basket.

"Sorry. If I scared you," Lexa apologized. "I just... I do that. Hope you like adrenaline," she joked. Clarke smiled as she backed out of the way, her hand going self-consciously to her hair.

"No! Just..." She took the cereal out of her basket. "Mmm... I didn't know..." Lexa was eyeing the cereal with her thoughtfully.

"Well... you looked like you wanted it," Lexa observed. "It will be nice for me to have on hand..."

Clarke drew a deep breath, glancing anxiously to the display, her eyes drifting to the more wholesome selection near the bottom of the shelving.

"Yeah, just... I don't know if I should."

Lexa swallowed, working her jaw. Reaching out, she grabbed another box of the cereal and dropped it in the cart.

"Should is a stupid word," the brunette thought out loud. "Well... In most contexts... I guess we just like to go overboard with it. Anyways. Let's go," she urged the blonde. Glancing unsurely to the brunette, she decided to just move on with them.

They wound up at the granola bars. Clarke lingered, watching the woman. Lexa knew what she was looking for. It wasn't there. The brunette jerked her head back, pursing her lips in frustration as she stared into the selection.

"Why would they do that," she exclaimed in soft frustration, throwing her hands halfheartedly. "Seriously...? I mean... I know, just..." Sucking her teeth, she examined the granola bars. Clarke came over.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just..." Lexa reached up to run a hand thoughtfully through her hair. "They're out of what I usually get. Mmm," she hummed with quiet irritation. "I mean, it's not their fault... They were on sale so I guess people snapped them up." She stepped back from the shelving with a sigh, composing herself.

"Is there anything else you could get, maybe?" Clarke inquired, trying to be helpful. Lexa drifted into thought for a moment, sighing resignedly. "Nah..."

Clarke walked to the selection, looking about the granola bars. "What about these ones," she tried, pointing to some next to the empty space. Lexa shook her head.

"They've got gluten in them."

"Oh," Clarke said, a little disappointed, her eyes drifting back to the selection, landing on some gluten free ones.

"Hey, these are gluten free," Clarke pointed out hopefully. Lexa watched her with mild resignation.

"I can't have cashews. Trust me on that."

Feeling a little disappointed, Clarke rejoined the two, still eyeing the granola bars.

"Its okay, Clarke. I have backup at home. I was just looking to restock my supply."

"Yeah?" Clarke asked.

"Yeah," Lexa confirmed. "I keep two of everything. If it's just dry groceries that won't go bad, I mean..."

Clarke glanced curiously to the woman, smiling. "You sound like... I don't know what! You're running your own grocery store back at your place.

Lexa began laughing. She apparently found this extremely funny.

"What?" Now, Clarke wanted to know. Smiling widely, the brunette turned to her.

"Clarke... what if I told you..." She was pacing this out, taking in Clarke's intrigue appreciatively, "I worked grocery for six years. Every single department. Meat, produce, dairy, grocery, bakery, deli, cash..."

"Really?" Clarke looking to the woman with interest.

"Yeah," Lexa affirmed with a casual nod at her head, her gaze drifting to the linoleum squares on the floor. At length, she let out a sigh. "Clarke," she said with a slow blink, formulating her words carefully. "I'm gonna be direct. I'm a super impatient person... I know you probably researched this stuff online, about difficulty grocery shopping and all that... and so far, this hasn't been what you expected..." She stalled off, before glancing up to Clarke. The blonde felt her heart race. Had she offended the woman? Made her feel inadequate or made an assumption on her? She--

"But it's kind of cool, to be surprised. Isn't it?" Lexa encouraged Clarke with a small, meaningful smile?

Clarke shut her mouth, smiling up to Lexa. "Yeah," the blonde admitted shyly.

Lexa nodded thoughtfully, swinging the basket. "Well. Good... because when I'm thinking really hard about something... I just look fucking stunned," She concluded to Clarke looking to her with a cheeky smile. Clarke didn't know if she should be laughing, but she couldn't help chuckling. Lexa seemed genuinely pleased with herself. She winked to Clarke. "Let's go," she reminded them both as Titus tugged at the leash.

At one point, they wound up at the checkout, welcomed by an older clerk with a friendly smile. There was only one till open, but just one person in front of them. A youngish boy, no older than sixteen was ringing the groceries through. As soon as he looked up at Lexa, he gave a small wave. "Hey Kevin," Lexa greeted him calmly as they began to load everything onto the belt.

"Hello, Lexa!" Came a low, cheerful voice from beside Kevin. At the end of the bagging area stood a man of about thirty. He had Downs Syndrome, Clarke noticed.

"How's it going, Matthew?" Lexa greeted him.

"It's all good, baby baaa-by," Matthew responded, copping his best Biggie Smalls voice.

"Glad to hear it."

Kevin started scanning the groceries. He struggled with the produce, some of Clarke's apples, turning with reddening cheeks to flip through the list and look up the code.

"Kevin. Check the sticker," Lexa suggested quietly. "Did you know they are trying to put the-- nevermind, just try it. I bet it works."

Kevin tried keying the numbers into the till, then weighing them. The item popped up on the screen.

"Oh... huh," Kevin commented, impressed.

Lexa shrugged imperceptibly. "We gotta help each-other out."

Matthew was waiting to get a word in. He was tired of it. "Decaf coffee, Lexa, where's your decaf coffee?"

Lexa started, glancing to Matthew and then to her array of items on the belt, scanning before reaching up to palm her face. "Damn. Good catch. I must have been distracted..."

"Do you want it, Lexa? I can get it for you," Matthew offered. He was already headed for the coffee aisle. After a minute, he returned with the item, adding it to the belt.

"Thanks, Matthew."

"You look like you need it..."

Lexa paused quizzically. "How am I supposed to take that," She asked to nobody in particular, a faint smile quirking her lips. She shook the thought off gently.

"Hi, Miss, I'm Matthew," Matthew addressed Clarke, who was content to watch entertainedly until this point. Clarke glanced confusedly to the man.

"Ah-- Hi Matthew, my name is Clarke," she remembered.

Lexa cut in, taking over the introduction. "So... Yeah. This is Matthew. Here he stands. If ever you forget something in this store, count on him to remind you. He's awesome..." She trailed off to regard Matthew, who was crouched down to greet Titus enthusiastically. Titus was returning the favor tenfold. Matthew stepped over, reaching under a counter by the till for a moment, coming back with a handful of cookies: Titus's original goal in mind. "Matthew-- Matthew," She interjected softly but insistently as the man offered them to the dog. "Not all of them. Maybe just two... Okay... Three. I don't want him to have too many." Matthew glanced to her, for a few moments, before compliantly counting out the cookies and stashing all but three cookies in his pocket.

"And..." Lexa continued to observe slowly, "He's brave. When I met him, he said he was afraid of dogs. Look at him go." She gestured appreciatively to the pair.

"No, I am afraid of dogs," Matthew qualified, "Just not Titus."

Lexa gestured impatiently to Titus "Well, Matthew," she reminded the clerk, "This is the scariest one!" Matthew didn't hear her. He was allowing Titus to lavish his face clumsily with kisses. Lexa watched the two with fascination, absently throwing her weight back gently on the taut leash whenever Titus would lunge too hard at Matthew. "Okay Matthew, that's enough. He's getting too excited."

"But he likes it," Matthew argued to Lexa.

"I know. I just don't want him to get too excited and start acting rude."

"Okay," Matthew granted the brunette, sullenly.

"Thanks Matthew. Titus, sit."

The man straightened to stare at Clarke again with curiosity. "You got a girlfriend, Lexa?"

The brunette stiffened dramatically, leaning back in surprise. "Matthew!" She scolded the man good naturedly. Clarke watched, allowing herself to smirk gratuitously as a faint color rose in Lexa's cheeks. "You're embarrassing me," Lexa complained, unable to conceal her own smile.

"I know, I like it," Matthew shot back quickly, grinning unapologetically.

Regarding him for a long while, Lexa palmed her face exaggeratedly. She turned to Clarke, taking in her reaction. "They let him get away with this." She told Clarke with a small smile of disbelief. "With their most loyal customer!"

"Not the most loyal," Matthew corrected her, "That's Cindy."

Lexa panned to Matthew for a moment, as though to take in the fact that Matthew was entirely serious before shaking her head demurely. A wide, secretive smile spread across her face.

"Hey. You would know," she agree humbly with the man.

"Yes, I sure would," Matthew agreed quickly.

___________________________

"So, yeah," Lexa summarized as they wandered out of the store. "That's Roots Foods. It's just the best grocery store in Polis... It just is. Now you're enlightened."

Clarke grinned.

"Well, you've made your case," she confessed, "I'll take you at your word for it."

"Glad someone sees it my way," Lexa said after a long while. "Does it work for you?"

Clarke glanced from the pensive woman back to the store with a wistful smile. "Yup."

"You should shop there. Everyone should," Lexa carried on.

The blonde couldn't suppress a giggle at the woman's surety on this point.

"What?" Lexa interrogated her, regarding her with suspicion. "What?!"

Clarke was doubling over.

"Are you looking at me like I'm cute," the brunette badgered her.

Catching her breath Clarke flipped the question on Lexa. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

Lexa gawped at her, open mouthed, slowing to a stop. She glanced to the ground, blinking slowly. Titus had paused to glance back at the two with confusion.

"I see what you did there," Lexa told Clarke triumphantly. "Fully... what you did," She carried on with conviction. She thought on it some more, eyes shifting from the sidewalk, to Titus, to Clarke as the blonde squirmed with silent laughter. "I need to lie down. Right here, right now," Lexa decided after a long moment. "Stop laughing at me!"

Clarke couldn't stop laughing.

"You're stunning me," Lexa pointed out, her voice rising. "I think you did it on purpose!" At length she let out an amused huff, palming her face.

"That's very tactical," She complimented Clarke. "That's all I have to say."

Titus was done waiting, forging ahead. Lexa hung on. "Yeah, okay," she told the dog impatiently, nodding to Clarke. "Come on. Let's get back to my place."


	18. Triumphant Return

The three hiked the stairs to Lexa's flat, spilling after Titus in through the front door. Arms full, Lexa let the leash drop and toed her shoes off. Clarke followed suit. Titus whirled around them, almost more excited to be home than he ever had been to go to the grocery store. Clarke stumbled as his hard head swung into her knee, seizing the groceries tightly. 

"Titus. Settle!" Lexa gruffed irately to the dog. He wound down slowly, looking to Lexa and then to Clarke longingly, then back to Lexa. Clarke watched with interest as Lexa levelly held the dog's gaze. Not staring him down, simply gazing. After a moment, she jerked her head encouragingly toward the living room. "Go on," she prompted him. Titus' head lifted with interest after a moment and he turned, trundling toward the living room. Clarke followed Lexa into the kitchen, where she was unloading the bags onto the counter. The blonde followed suit. Where was Lexa off to now?

Titus was posed attentively on the dog bed, eyes trained on Lexa, looking fully ready to spring off the bed and jump her. She mutely flashed him a thumbs up. He shifted back onto the bed a bit. Opening the freezer quickly, she withdrew from it some sort of Kong toy and tossed it to him. Clarke watched, entertained, as Titus lunged up and caught it smoothly. "Good boy," Lexa soothed as the dog trapped the toy under its paw, chewing at it busily. 

"That's a hell of a trick," Clarke commented, impressed. 

Lexa raised a shoulder bashfully. "Youtube," she explained. "You can find some good dog training videos there, as long as you know what you're looking for. A lot of them don't know what they're talking about, but I kind of researched and figured out who to follow."

"Damn, I have a friend whose dog could use some training," Clarke commented. 

"Yeah. Reddit is the best place to start," Lexa advised coolly. "I just went on there with a buck-ass wild dog and they steered me right."

"Reddit. Love that place."

"I only came there for the memes," Lexa admitted with a grin. She turned her gaze to the groceries, sighing imperceptibly as she regarded them for a moment, before going over and hunting through everything. Clarke went to help, pulling out some cold foods and opening the fridge. "Um," Lexa interrupted her. Clarke froze, turning inquiringly. Was this like an OCD thing? "That produce can stay out. I'm gonna wash that right away. Everything else can go in wherever it fits for now." Clarke went to it. Lexa plugged the sink, flipping on the tap and checking the temperature. "I always get this water just right," she murmured. "Lukewarm for washing, then trim the stems off and dunk it in cold to crisp. Learned that working produce."

Clarke finished the dairy away and went to help Lexa dump the produce into the sink. When they were finished, she went for the rest of the groceries. "Clarke," came the voice behind her, "I'll take care of those. I know just where to put them. You don't. It will be easier for me." Clarke retreated from the foodstuffs. "You look tired, Clarke," Lexa observe. Self-consciously, Clarke's hand shot through her hair.

"No... just... Okay, well, maybe a little," she confessed. She felt the exhaustion hit her, now that she had been made aware. 

"I usually crawl into bed for a snooze at this time anyways," Lexa admitted with a small smile. She began to slowly pack some of Clarke's purchases into an empty bag, passing it to Clarke. She followed the blonde to the door. When Clarke had everything with her, to the best of her knowledge, she turned to Lexa shyly. 

"That was... fun," she said. It felt inadequate. 

"I think 'fun' is the only word you can funnel this last 24 hours into," Lexa agreed, quietly but wholeheartedly. "Your phone? You've got it?" Clarke paused, rifling through her bag. 

"Oh-- shit, you're right," she realized, looking over and seeing it at the end of the kitchen counter. Feeling silly, she began to toe her shoes off. 

"Clarke," Lexa paused her, "Just run and get it."

"You sure?"

"I'm mopping tomorrow. I'm mopping every day," Lexa reminded her glibly. Feeling better about leaving her shoes on, Clarke hurried to get it. She was still missing something.

"How does it sound if I drop your dress off at the drycleaners in the building? You can pick it up from there, they'll charge you half-price."

Clarke considered the option. "That... actually, thanks! That would be great," she agreed, hand going for the door. 

"Forgetting one more thing," Lexa observed. Clarke's cheeks were bright red. She didn't want to appear a shitshow in front of Lexa after such a good date. The brunette seemed to adore it, in any case. She pulled Clarke over for a sound kiss on the lips, releasing her to open up the door. 

"You can forget anything else, just don't forget that," she smiled. "Sleep well, Clarke."


	19. Sushi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa negotiate a compromise.

For a long time, Lexa was flat-out opposed to the idea of eating sushi. She was well aware that sushi was a very popular thing that people liked to eat and socialize over, she just didn’t like it. Not even just the restaurant aspect of it. 

“Raw fish can be a nutritious and palatable diet,” she began to agree with Clarke before qualifying, “For dogs and cats.”

And of course it had been suggested that she simply order tempura or teriyaki, and Lexa had a very trustworthy and well-used argument to offer as to why this was not a satisfactory ‘workaround’ (couched in a few facts about the origin and history of tempura).

But Clarke liked going to restaurants, and she loved sushi, and from personal experience, Clarke could assure Lexa that sushi restaurants tended to have a subdued, tranquil vibe. Lexa also knew this to be true, from what she had seen on television and movies. And Lexa had to lend it to her, if she had to accompany Clarke to any restaurant, a sushi one would be a good bet. 

“Just don’t order anything with fish. I will smell the rawness. It nauseates me,” she stipulated. 

So, they went to a sushi restaurant, and it went pretty well. Lexa loved the fish tank that they could see from their seats. 

“Isn’t that downright perverse when you think about it, Clarke,” she thought out loud as they waited for their orders, “That they are made to watch this, of all things, day in and day out?”

Clarke was dragging a hand over her face, shoulders bouncing fitfully with suppressed laughter. She sincerely couldn’t help herself. 

“What?” Pressed Lexa. “That isn’t appropriate to laugh at, by the way.” Clarke just couldn’t stop. There was nothing more hilarious than Lexa trying to school her on what was and wasn’t appropriate.

Lexa’s ‘workaround’ that involved eating neither sushi nor tempura was simply to ask the server what foods they kept in their fridge. It took them a little while to communicate, with the language barrier, but the three of them figured it out and Lexa would admit after that it was ‘worth the effort after all’. Clarke ordered all the vegetarian sushi she wanted. Lexa had some fresh vegetables, rice, and cooked chicken. She was content with that because after all (as she would unapologetically admit to anyone who asked) she had no fucking palate.

“Did you know that soy sauce is used as a condiment because the high sodium content kills harmful bacteria,” Lexa asked her. 

Clarke thanked her for being a shameless dork, and when she realized Lexa’s strategic weakness to the ginger that had came with the sushi, she couldn’t resist playfully chasing Lexa’s face with a bit of it collected on a chopstick.

As she leaned back, dodging the ginger deftly, Lexa launched her oft-reached for counterattack to playful teasing, which was to sternly threaten Clarke with sticking it up her ass.

“Did you know people actually do that with peeled ginger, Clarke? Like, literally?” She began sidetrack, volume rising with her fascination. Clarke confessed she didn’t want to hear about that while she was eating. The people sitting several tables away probably shared that sentiment. Lexa didn’t get it, but she gracefully relented.

It worked so well, and they liked it so much, that later that week, Clarke discovered another sushi restaurant that looked cool and had some yummy vegetarian options.

“Why the hell would we do that,” Lexa interrogated her at first, “If we go back to the same place each time, eventually, I will train the waitstaff… Then I won’t have to give them a goddamn english lesson every time I order…”

Clarke admitted her point, but it wasn’t without a little rue and wistfulness, because she loved trying new restaurants. Lexa spied this. 

“You know what, we will go to the restaurant you want to try,” she backtracked, on a rare whim. “But only— _only—_ for your sake, Clarke,” she added emphatically. “Only because you are cute.” That earned her a Duchenne smile. It was slow to spread across Clarke’s face, but when it did, it was large, and spectacular.


	20. Officially Dating

They were dating, by definition. Lexa supposed that in the past, that by taking girls on traditional dates in restaurants and barely hanging in there, minimum four whiskey neats, that she didn’t deep down believe herself capable of dating a girl. Perhaps that had really screwed with her.

Clarke and Lexa had lunch dates on Tuesdays and Thursdays, behind Oliver's, and the rest of the time, Clarke would eat with her coworkers and Lexa would eat alone; _“I'm literally stuck in a box with them for two of eight hours, why would I want to stick myself in another box with them for another hour?”_ She was, of course, referring to her love of solitude and dislike for the claustrophobic closet that was a lunchroom to her company.

"Besides, I see Mike."

"Have I met him?"

Lexa jabbed a fork to a seagull hanging about. "Mike." She delicately forked a piece of gnocchi and flung it to him.

"Why Mike?"

"Like, Mike Score," Lexa told her, like she should get the reference.

"Mike who?"

“Flock of Seagulls.” That was also told to her like she should know the reference.

“A Brit pop band from the eighties. With this really wild hair. Anyways. How was your morning?”

Lexa would listen attentively, sometimes asking questions, sometimes giving advice, always waiting her turn. The advice she gave was a bit Machiavellian for Clarke’s tastes most of the time. Sometimes it was optimistic and understanding though. It was always underscored with a backup plan that sounded like she was quoting Art of War.

“You know your social skills are way better than you give them credit for,” Clarke complimented Lexa.

“Oh, I think I give them the right amount of credit alright. Clarke, I literally just watch people for like four hours a day,” Lexa leveled with her. Her eyes met Clarke and a smile spread across her face.

“Do you watch me,” Clarke asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, only on a professional basis, I’m pretty sure anything otherwise would be pretty creepy,” Lexa told her, her brow raising quizzically. “Talking about me like I’m Ted Bundy. Ruthless.” She began to giggle a bit, glancing to her gnocchi, before looking the blonde square in the eye. “Clarke, I’m well aware that my honest-to-god responses are entertaining, but you really have to hand it to yourself, your questions are just as funny.”

Now they were both laughing with mouths full of food. Lexa fought hers down first. “I was just making a point, Clarke, I wasn’t trying to suffocate you!” That didn’t help. Lexa had to sit back, take some deep breaths, twirl her fork and calm herself down. She loved making Clarke laugh so much that sometimes she got carried away with it. This seemed like a reasonable thing to tell her.

“Clarke, look at me. Did you know that I love making you laugh so much that I can’t help myself and I get carried away with it?”

Clarke just fixed her with a small but adoring smile. Lexa had definitely struck true with that one. “Okay well you don’t have to say anything, but now that I’ve warned you, it’s on your head if you choke and die.”

And on Clarke's end, she listened to Lexa's day, to the things she considered important, that Lexa previously thought that only her coworkers, and the cooks, and the junkies found relevant.

"...and so the painter kept hounding me with his signs, asking me 'Where am I supposed to put them?' Like it was my problem."

"Well, where'd you tell him to put them?"

"Up his rectum."

"..."

"Clarke. I'm kidding."

Lexa masked like nothing else when she was educating someone on something, because in her words _"I want people to fucking listen."_ Occasionally, she would explain something about herself with the same level of animation, and it made Clarke wonder if, in her own way, that was Lexa educating her about herself. About something she felt comfortable sharing. OR, of course, proving that she wasn't actually all that strange in doing something.

"Did you know," Lexa swallowed her bite to tell Clarke, "That they can actually subpoena my phone if I have footage on it that could be used as court evidence?"

"Who's they?"

"Anyone with a court order."

"Like... come to you and ask for it?"

"Yep. And I would have to give it to them then and there, or I could be charged with obstruction of justice."

"Wow."

"Same goes for you. Anyways, that's why I'm so private about my security videos."

Lexa had reached a level of trust where she would show Clarke what her phone recorded when she had it slyly turned on in her breast pocket during an incident, 'for her legal protection, but also just as an integrity thing.' She treated the data with utmost confidentiality. Clarke was the only one who was allowed to view it, 'But only so long as she neither downloaded it nor uploaded it anywhere, ever'. She had drawn up a waiver, which Clarke signed, and it had stipulated that she delete any footage Lexa sent via SMS or email, which they had struck out of the clause, because there was no way Clarke was going to remember to do that.

"Makes sense."

"Well, more than that. My phone is basically my working memory. It's my journal, my schedule, my photo album, my camera, my research station, my notepad--"

"I get it Lexa," Clarke said gently, because she did, when Lexa put it that way. Lexa had no computer to back her phone up to. In her words, 'I smashed it. Don't ask. Not proud.' They both worked at their lunch, thinking.

"What would happen if you forgot it?"

"I don't know. I never do that." Lexa pursed her lips, thinking. "If I handled it well, and people were understanding, probably just get permission to go home and get it. If not... Again, I don't really know. Panic attack, possibly."

Lexa pushed back from her finished meal, frowning into her bowl thoughtfully. “But I would figure it out. That’s kind of just what I do.”


	21. Sunday, 11:30 am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa slip into a routine.

Lexa was drifting distractedly about the apartment, intending to clean but getting sidetracked. Clarke smiled as she shaded in a pant leg. She got it. Titus was sleeping. Lexa cleaned with Titus. He would trail around at her, gazing inquiringly up to her as she spray-mopped and rapped. Clarke had to conceal her laughter. Not very much; Lexa couldn’t hear her over her headphones. Lexa couldn’t clean without Titus. She wasn’t even rapping. She just couldn’t. It simply wasn’t routine. With Titus curled up on the bed, sleeping through work, the whole function simply fell apart. Clarke felt a belly laugh. She dutifully froze when Lexa strolled aimlessly back into the living room. Secretly, she was curious as to when Lexa would give up at cleaning. Lexa knew she couldn’t make Titus get up and follow her interestedly. He simply was tired and couldn’t be bothered. There are some things every dog simply can’t be assed to do, Clarke supposed.

Furtively, Clarke watched Lexa. She was frozen on the spot in front of the sink, pondering. After a long while, she started in realization. This was where Clarke came in. 

“Whatcha thinking?”

Lexa couldn’t hear her. 

“Lexa. Lex. _LEX._ ”

Finally coming to, Lexa pursed her lips in mild annoyance and removed her headphones. It was a gut reaction, Clarke trusted. Often, Lexa would get annoyed at having to take her headphones out to talk to people. Clarke knew she wasn’t listening to her rap this time, though.

“Watcha thinking?” Clarke inquired again. Lexa’s face softened. 

“Oh… hm…,” she said slowly. “Would you like to know something weird?”

“Sure,” Clarke agreed. She didn’t even have to act interested. Lexa’s weird thoughts were so alien, they came straight from mars sometimes. 

“Okay…” Lexa tried to pull the idea together. She glanced over to Clarke, checking to see that she was intrigued. 

“Well… I dunno. My mom didn’t gray, Clarke. Her hair, I mean. She just didn’t. Not when I was around her, probably not now, and I can bet my ass it will take her a long time to do so…”

Clarke nodded thoughtfully, taking this in. Lexa inhaled again. 

“My dad… Was graying by the time I was a teenager. By the time I stopped talking to my parents, he had a full head of gray hair.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Graying can be genetic, I’ll take that for granted, for now. But Clarke, have you heard this?”

“Heard what, Lexa,” Clarke knew this was supposed to be the interesting part. 

“They say… I mean, researchers are fairly sure, for now, that stress causes grey hairs. Did you know that, Clarke? That you could in theory give someone gray hairs?”

Clarke nodded, impressed. 

“Yeah… Anyways. Where I was going with this, Clarke…” She trailed off for a moment. “Knowing this, say you saw my parents just out and about. At church, over a dinner table, whatever. What could you assume about their relationship, Clarke?”

“That your mom stressed your dad out?”

“…And she relieved her own stress at his expense…” Lexa frowned, impressed. “Cool, eh? I mean, if you believed what they say about gray hairs… You could literally spot a codependent relationship walking down the street!”

“Not bad, Sherlock.”

Lexa allowed a small smile to quirk the corners of her lips. 

“I loved that guy. Just love him… from the second I could make sense of Doyle. Whoosh. All the way through those books. My mom would read them to me before bed. I just… I just loved it, Clarke. What else to say?” She gestured. It was a hypothetical question. Lexa gazed to the sink absently opening her mouth. She was gonna change her mind on that and try to answer it. “I just… Clarke, I have to stop this thought. I’ll just excite myself,” She laughed. They were both laughing. Lexa’s predictions were absolutely correct. Lexa sighed one more time. 

“Clarke… Do you know what word Doyle used to express excitement in Sherlock?”

“Okay. One more thing. Just one more, Lexa,” Clarke permitted her gently, pumping the brakes. 

“Ejaculate.” Lexa grinned. “What the fuck, right? That created an interesting conversation with my mom right before I had to go to sleep. Laying in bed when I was eight years old, mom at the bedside.”

Clarke was sniggering. She wasn’t about to try and hide it. No point. Lexa strolled over to give her a playful little push. 

“Goofball. Ejaculate… I thought you were all about that stuff…” She teased Clarke. “I don’t get you,” she added. “I guess I was never meant to do that, fully.” Thoughtfully, she tugged Clarke into a hug, planting a firm kiss on the top of her head before releasing the woman to return to her work with a squeeze on the shoulder. She actually did need to do it; Lexa understood. The brunette replaced her earbud, fetching the mop as she scrolled her phone. 

“ _I don’t give a bitch enough… To catch the bus… and when I see the semen, I’m leavin’… Bitches be schemin’, I kid you not, that’s why I keep my window locked, and my black cocked…_ ”


	22. Locusts and Wild Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa have a bit of a food/self care dispute.

When Clarke let herself into Lexa’s place after leaving the office (she had been given a key after Lexa’s careful consideration, and even managed to coax the brunette out of making her sign a waiver), she was greeted only by Titus. She struggled for balance, juggling her laptop case as the exuberant dog shoved his velvety grey head against her knees. Translucent trails of drool now adorned her nylons. Pressing inside, she shut the door, bracing herself against it as she toed off her heels. 

“Titus, off.” 

Clarke felt empowered as she spoke those words. Lexa had been teaching her Titus’ commands here and there and much to the blonde’s amazement, the block-headed (but in a lovable way) dog was actually beginning to listen to her. “Good boy,” she affirmed Titus. “Sit.”

Titus’ haunched dropped swiftly to the rug. He shivered excitedly as his eyes went from Clarke’s to the cookie jar that lived on a shelf by the front door. The artist had to smile as Titus licked his chops eagerly. “Good boy,” she affirmed the dog, quickly going to the jar, grabbing a cookie, and tossing it to the pitbull. He caught it skilfully, rising and trotting to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to confirm that Clarke was following him. Where was Lexa? Clarke could hear the music from animal crossing coming from the living room. Lexa never left home without turning everything off.

Lexa was draped across the couch, legs akimbo, Switch controller in hand, zero fucks left to give. Her character on animal crossing was methodically running up to tree after tree, shaking them each in turn. Clarke could spy no signs that Lexa had eaten, then again, the woman cleaned up after herself so swiftly that it was impossible to draw any conclusions. 

“Hey, Lex,” Clarke greeted the brunette, walking over behind the sofa to trail a hand fondly over Lexa’s shoulder. The brunette reached up with one hand, tracing her fingers over Clarke’s forearm wordlessly. “Did you eat dinner” Clarke often worried that Lexa didn’t quite do this enough. The guard was more the type of person that simply saw food as fuel. 

“Yes,” Lexa returned swiftly. Was that defensiveness Clarke detected in the brunette’s soft voice?

“Like, enough?” Clarke probed. She just wanted to make sure. She herself had ordered her dinner to the office in order to stay late and get some work finished on her tablet. Lexa’s hand returned to the game controller.

“I ate a large meal,” Lexa responded cryptically. Clarke pursed her lips in mild frustration. So, apparently Lexa was only in the mood to game. Still didn’t mean she could go through life like that, just doing whatever she wanted like a teenaged boy.

“A large meal of what?”

“Locusts and wild honey,” Lexa said quickly, the faintest trace of a sneer in her voice. What the hell kind of reference was that? Clarke wasn’t in the mood for this; not after her day at work. She strongly suspected that Lexa was shooting references over her head. She didn’t like that. When Lexa would intellectualize as a form of combat against her. It made her feel… Less intelligent than Lexa. Less powerful. Not nice. 

“Lexa…”

“Two hard-boiled eggs, bread, baby carrots, cheddar and a mandarin orange,” Lexa told her, concentrating on keeping her tone civil.

“Lexa, that isn’t a dinner!” Clarke was huffing as she dropped her laptop case on the counter, grabbing some meat to thaw, going under the counter for the pots and pans. 

“…It’s fuel and nutrition,” Lexa pointed out obstinately, but still calmly. The way she jammed down on the A button with her thumb revealed her true irritation. 

“Oh, for the fucking love of god,” Clarke cursed softly to herself as she opened a cupboard, grabbing some various seasonings. 

“I heard that,” Lexa told her accusingly from the couch. Sometimes, and it always caught Clarke off guard, Lexa could simply sound like a cranky eight-year-old. An angry, overtired little inner child. 

“Lexa, whatever. Just play your game,” Clarke relented. She was tired of this. She went to the fridge to look for some vegetables. Opening the door, she scrutinized the contents of the fridge. Truthfully, she didn’t even know what she was looking at. A light brush of her shoulder caused her to jump. The blonde whirled around, nearly knocking heads with Lexa. The brunette allowed her some space. Both her and Titus were now eyeing her with soft concern. 

“What?” Clarke inquired of both of them. 

“Clarke,” Lexa answered softly, stepping back, raising a hand. “Give me a moment...” message pending. The brunette blew a long sigh and wandered over to the kitchen island. She sighed again when she reached her destination, leaning against it. Titus followed her, pushing his head against her hand. The taller woman fondled his head absently as she found her words. “I care about you, and I want to let you care about me. I don’t want to rob you of that. I know that’s what you’re doing, here. And I do appreciate help. That’s what defines a ‘partner’. But in some respects... I have been doing this for thirty-three years,” she reminded Clarke with a wise smile. “If I want to eat hard boiled eggs and veggies with dip for supper... I have kept myself alive and reasonably health for this long... I’ve succeeded in ‘adulting’, as far as I’m concerned.”

Breathing a long sigh, Clarke turned back to the fridge, shutting the door. “Lexa, I’m sorry. I—“ she began to apologize.

“Not necessary,” Lexa cut her off quietly. “Don’t apologize. Or do… I don’t know. I get where you’re coming from, though.” She came in closer to Clarke inviting her gently into a hug. Clarke stiffened at first, but relaxed into it, letting her head find the crook of Lexa’s neck. The blonde sighed as she breathed in Lexa’s scent. She smelled forest-y; Clarke knew that was the scent of the essential oils the brunette sometimes turned to in order to calm herself. 

“I’m sorry too, though,” Lexa spoke into the crown of her head. “I know I can get snappy at times… Immature, if you will.”

“I get it, Lex.”

“It’s like my inner child,” Lexa realized. “Someone taught her the f-word,” she chuckled. “And she likes to fight boys that are bigger than her. Just… fucking go at them, and watch them retreat in terror,” she reminisced, her tone waxing wistful… “what?!” Clarke was silently giggling into the older woman’s body. “You find this humorous?!” She pressed the blonde, standing back for a moment so she could examine Clarke’s expression. Lexa ‘hated’ seeming ‘cute’— and her reaction when she sensed Clarke perceived her this way never helped. 

“Well, am I allowed,” Clarke levelled with her, her gaze meeting the glinting green eyes. She watched with satisfaction as Lexa stepped back, biting her lip, grumbling good-naturedly. 

“Yes,” the brunette decided in a small voice.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes. You are allowed to find it funny,” Lexa ground out, scarcely able to conceal her smile. 

“And what is ‘it’, Lexa,” Clarke poked back at her. Lexa held her gaze, blowing a long sigh through her teeth before lunging forward, hoisting the blonde up over her shoulder in one exhilarating, fluid movement and marching over to the couch. Lexa gave her a gentle crack on the ass before depositing her unceremoniously into her ‘spot’ in the couch. 

“We don’t have to get into it,” Lexa told her. 

“Smartass.”

Lexa stuck her tongue out defiantly as she plopped down into her spot beside Clarke. Titus joined them, issuing his place at the other end of the sectional. “Whatever,” Lexa said, picking up her controller. “Hey— wanna see my museum?”

“Not really,” Clarke chuckled, honestly, as she relaxed, tucking her legs up underneath her, watching as the cartoon concierge resumed her tree-shaking. 

“Fine,” Lexa sighed. 

“Sorry if I went all into mom-mode on you,” Clarke apologized. 

“Fuck,” said Lexa. Little bees were swirling around her avatar’s head. “Apology accepted.” They both sank into silence, relaxing a bit. It was a long while before Lexa broke the silence. 

“Results, Clarke,” Lexa coached her. “Don’t waste time worrying about the means when what it really comes down to is the end.”

“I will... keep that in mind, Socrates,” Clarke told her, grinning pridefully at her comeback. 

Lexa regarded her appraisingly for several moments, nodding. Without warning, she dropped the controller and lunged for Clarke, clambering on top of her in some sort of tactical pinning move. Clarke squealed and writhed beneath her. She kissed furiously at Clarke’s neck. It tickled. At last, Lexa relented and lifted her head to say something. 

“What you come at me with wit-wise, I can surpass with brute force,” she pointed out. Clarke squirmed and squirmed, uselessly, pealing with laughter until she could hardly breathe. Had she ever felt this carefree? Before Lexa? She could think of a few times that came close, most of them times spent with her dad, but the answer was no. When she got her hands free of Lexa (which, being real, was entirely Lexa’s decision), she grabbed her neck and kissed her hard. She knew Lexa was proud of being stronger than her, and she found it fucking adorable. It probably made Lexa feel capable. She probably felt good when she felt capable around Clarke. That thought made Clarke... it just gave her butterflies, that was all. After a while, Lexa relented, standing up with a sigh. 

“Clarke. You gotta stop trying to run my circus here. You’ve got your own monkeys, several floors up from me.”

Clarke struggled up, about to object, but thought the better of it and collapsed defeatedly on the couch. Lexa wasn’t wrong, here. 

“Well, we both ate,” Lexa offered in compromise, “but maybe next time you’re up at work after hours, shoot me a text and we can go to Oliver’s.”

Clarke really liked that idea. 


	23. Picking Flowers

She had a perpetual eye on the periphery; that's why Lexa excelled at her job. She did not look for things that were out of place. They simply commanded her attention. Because of the processing thing. Animals, things on the ground, suspicious activity: these were a few of the things that she need not search for; they found her. She had a bad habit of cutting people off in conversation to point out a crackpipe, or a police officer, or a seagull carrying a whole hot dog, or a stranger who looked like they might need help. Only here, it was a good habit. The best habit, in fact. 

"Did you catch that, Lexa?"

"There's a transit cop boarding that bus," she observed. Indra craned her head beyond the counter of the half-moon desk to see, before finding the frame on the monitors and zooming in. They forgot their conversation, simply observing. 

"He's going into the back of the bus."

"Probably checking tickets."

"Or someone's acting up."

"Not our property. Not our liability. Not our problem."

"Yeah, he looks like he's got it covered, let's just keep an eye."

They went back to what they were doing. Within minutes, the ambulances, fire trucks and police cruisers were pulling up. And paramedics were hauling the man out of the bus, cordoning off and area, putting him on the ground. Cutting his shirt off, starting compressions on the thin, scabby chest. Oxygen, o-neg, a-fibs... not looking optimistic. Judging by his hair color, clothes and build, subtracting the years heavy substance abuse could add to a person's appearance, he was no older than thirty. It was fortunate that Lexa could not see his face. 

Indra was leaving the chair to wander outside and watch. Lexa remained inside. She didn't really want or need to see this; the transit cop would have undoubtedly administered Naloxone and if that didn't have the man up and walking almost instantaneously... The probability of him walking away at all was very low. In Lexa's experience. If necessary, she would be out there without a second thought, helping. But if her help wasn't needed, she wanted to 'save her care'. She could not think of a more articulate way to phrase that. 

A crowd was slowly gathering, but again it was happening on the sidewalk outside, which was technically the property of the transit company. If they helped too much, or did the wrong thing, they could be legally liable for the man's life, as could their clients. This didn't prevent anyone she knew from pitching in wherever they saw someone who needed first aid, but as soon as the situation was in the hands of EMS, they needed to stand back. They could provide their CCTV footage on subpoena if someone wanted to sue the police, paramedics, fire or transit company; that was pretty much what they could do. 

Lexa was watching Indra watching the scene, unaware that she was doing that thing with her jaw. When chest compressions were done, if you were doing it effectively at all, you broke ribs. Why in the GOD FUCK would Indra subject herself to that sound unless absolutely necessary? Lexa could not understand. Steeling herself, she went to the lobby door and poked her head out. 

"Indra, could you take the desk? It's 1515." She did her first patrol at three fifteen. Indra lingered outside, craning her head. That was irritating. "Indra? It's 1515. I will put the PTZ on this for you," Lexa offered. Reluctantly, Indra returned inside. Lexa leaned over the desk, clicking and zooming, blowing the scene up in HD for Indra, and left her to it. 

As she was heading outside, Gus and Miller came from the back with the a-fib from the security office. It was unnecessary. The paramedics already had two that Lexa could see. It was good of them to offer though. "I'm patrolling," she told them curtly. And let herself out through the back of the building. 

When she got outside, she put her headphones on. Under any other circumstance she wouldn't; she didn't want to be one of _those_ guards, and she liked to remain aware of her surroundings. But Gus would get it, in this circumstance. Gus would cover for her. She picked _Hold On_ by 2pac. She put it on repeat. And just let the flow and her patrol route take her where they would until the end of the song: 

_If you don't never leave nothin, learn one thing  
Hold on, and be strong  
It don't stop, til the casket drop  
Hold on  
Thug, for life feel me?  
All my homeboys and my homegirls, stay strong  
When things get bad, especially come the first and the fifteenth  
Stay strong, and stay ballin, hold on  
I'll catch y'all at the next life, we in traffic _

When she rounded the front of the building, most of the EMS were gone. A light-yellow tarp lay in place of the young man. A loose crowd of onlookers had collected to view the denouement of the scene. Police and paramedics kept them at a distance from the body until the coroner could arrive. Lexa found herself disgusted by their voyeurism. _She didn’t get humans._ First responders awed Lexa. She could never do their job. It was difficult and irritating, simply keeping curious people away from a dead body. People ignored them all the time when they were alive, but as soon as a junkie became a dead specimen, they attracted a lot of attention.

"Did you see what happened?" A passerby asked her. 

"When I went on patrol, they were trying to resuscitate him. When I got back, he was dead," she reported matter-of-factly

They made small talk about how sad it was. "Do you think we will see it on the news?" He asked. 

"Probably not," she responded without pause. "We didn't see the other ninety-seven that occurred this month."

The man didn't know what to say to that. It was only then that she spied the flaxen waves among the crowd. _Clarke._ Not thinking, only doing, she abandoned the man, covering ground in brisk strides until she was seizing a slender arm, dragging Clarke back from the scene. She would not stop asking questions. _Lexa, this... Lexa, that..._ She slowed uncooperatively, but Lexa was stronger, and had a better center of gravity than Clarke in her pumps. She ignored Clarke until they had rounded the corner of the building. 

"Lexa, what the hell?!"

Lexa released Clarke's wrist. Guiltily, she realized she had been holding it very tightly. 

"You don't need to see that."

"Did you see what happened?"

"I went on patrol."

"What? Did you try to help him?"

"No. It occurred off the property. It happened on the bus. He was helped as soon as possible by others."

"So you what, just walked away and ignored—“

“Clarke,” Lexa scolded her seriously. “Don’t _look_ at what you don’t need to _see_.” Not a complicated rule. 

She paused herself and sighed, softening herself. "Cops arrived at the same time as the bus, the rest of EMS was only five minutes behind. They are trained first responders, with better equipment than us. They started resuscitating him right away, which means the Naloxone kit didn't work. If the Naloxone kit doesn't work, that means it's probably too late. They did everything right, for as long as they could; it just wasn't enough."

"Lex, are you alr-“

"That's irrelevant,” Lexa cut in impatiently.

"It wasn't one of your friends, was it?"

"No.” Lexa hadn't considered that, in keeping the sort of company she kept-- that she might see their dead body on the property one day. Certainly, she had prepared for the eventuality that they might die, but maybe foolishly, she didn't think she might have to witness it.

"Okay. Because if it was Alex or Jeff, I don't know what I'd do," Clarke confessed, "Now that I have gotten to know them."

"If it was Alex or Jeff, they would die having been cared about by a stranger," Lexa rationalized soothingly. “Someone would have been sad that they died, rather than just discouraged or irritated.” She thought of the first responders. She could _never_ do that job. 

* * *

Lexa spent the afternoon reconsidering many things, as she kept an eye on when the different responders left the scene, when the coroners came, when the coroner left. When everyone was gone on to the next call, and only the bus remained, parked for cleaning. Incident concluded at 17:41. She bookmarked the recorded footage, and titled it something appropriate: TRANSIT SECURITY INCIDENT OFFSITE. Done. The footage wasn't likely to be requested by anyone.

When people died, others put flowers out for them. There was a lower-than-average chance anyone would put flowers out for this man, for many reasons. Lexa saw no point in cut flowers, even given or received for normal people: they were expensive, had no significant use, and within a week, they died. But she had never tried putting out flowers for someone who died before, and it wouldn't cost her much to do it once, just to see what it felt like. Truthfully, Lexa hadn't many close family or friends, and had never actually grieved the loss of one.

When it was time for her lunch break, she knew what to do. She did it secretively, because she didn't want Gus or Miller or Lincoln to warn her off the idea. Hustling to the only open grocery store, she picked out a bouquet. She couldn’t afford a lot. She had no idea what type of flowers to buy for a funeral arrangement. She was tight on time. And wherewithal. This was not like going to Roots Foods with Titus. Lexa bit the inside of her cheek hard, trying to draw her focus away from the lights, beeps and grating music. She winced as help was paged to the checkout. Lexa decided on a small bouquet of white carnations, she had it wrapped. When the florist asked her to choose the colors, she didn't know the correct answer. They used orange and red tissue paper, and tied a red ribbon around it. She didn't tell the florist it was for a man that died. She was quite sure that was oversharing.

When she returned to Trikru 3, it wasn't busy at the front of the building. Uninterrupted and unquestioned, she was able to tie the flowers to the ornamental tree under which the man had been pronounced dead. Surveying the finished work, she could only think that it looked like something done by an eight-year-old boy, rather than a proper memorial. Lexa reminded herself that she had made her best attempt under the given constraints. 

Later, from the desk, she could see the odd bus driver or commuter coming to view her memorial, either alone or in pairs, talking. Perhaps that was the purpose of flowers; to help people remember. Everyone who had seen the man die and felt sad about it would see her flowers when they next took the bus and know that he would not be forgotten.

* * *

When Lexa got to work the following day, she checked on the flowers. Noting with satisfaction, she completed her first patrol, because that was always what she did when she first arrived. After that, she walked to the McDonalds on the corner where she would order an extra large black coffee. It always made her smile how the clerks would see her coming and have the coffee ready for her before she even made it to the till. 

As she strode down the street, she noticed with chagrin that the flowers were gone. Only the red organza ribbon remained on the tree trunk, drifting forlornly in the wind. Someone selfish or thoughtless had probably thought it was for them, or they took it down for literally no other reason than to deface property. Her first instinct was to run back to the CCTV monitors so that she could literally see what kind of person would take down the memorial of another. But that would be pointless. She would fix it instead. 

On the way to the coffee shop, there was a proper florist still open. She strode up the busy street. These were the times when it really got to her. The din of traffic, the hiss of air brakes, the occasional excessively loud snarl of a luxury sportscar accelerating. People bought sports cars with two main ideals: loud, and expensive. Totally unwarranted. The people in front of her shuffled along, walking too slowly, getting in everyone's way. Simpering passersby reached into their wallets to drop change for panhandlers, but Lexa and the panhandlers both understood that a normal person would never so much as DARE to shake their hand, even though empathy and respect cost nothing. Lexa knew she was being crabby. Coffee would remedy that. 

When she got to the florist, she decided to make a better attempt at her memorial. The Korean teenager behind the counter seemed to genuinely care about his work. She found this to be the case more often than not with service workers, but that might have been her confirmation bias speaking. She explained to him that it was a sympathy bouquet and let him do the rest. It cost her twenty-two dollars after taxes, but he did an excellent job on it. He stuck a tiny paper that said "Deepest Sympathies" on a plastic spear and slid that into the bouquet. Lexa hoped that if a grave-robber came for this bouquet, that they would do everyone a favor and stick the plastic spear into their eyeball. 

She next got her coffee, and when the clerk asked about the flowers, because they saw each-other on a daily basis, she simply said it was for a street memorial. She didn't want to overshare, or depress them, or think that she was some sort of bleeding heart. Speed-walking down the street, because she had overspent her break at the flower shop, she caught someone staring at her. Probably because she was stamping sullenly down the street, flowers snatched in hand like she had been turned down for a date. Whatever. When she reached The Memorial, she tied the flowers to it more securely. It looked a lot nicer; a lot more _adult_. Nobody asked her what happened, simply to satisfy their morbid curiosity, which was her least favorite part of someone dying. Truthfully, she felt a lot better when she went back inside and returned to work. 

During her lunch break, she liked to have a smoke after eating and stroll the perimeter, just to kill the remainder of her break. She sighted Clarke sitting in the sun at the bus stop in front of the building, sketchbook on her lap. She already felt as though she could sight that girl in a crowd of a thousand, like Where's Waldo. She had to admire how as the world whirled and roared around Clarke, she sat there like a rock in rapids, capturing the flowers with avid interest. And it went without saying that she looked beautiful. She would probably sound beautiful and smell beautiful, if Lexa were close enough. Feel beautiful, if she were even closer. Taste beautiful... _Shut up, Lexa_.

Lexa was aware she was simply watching the woman, perhaps creepily, she had no clue, so she approached and sat down beside her. Admittedly, Lexa still felt a bit intimidated and nervous when she approached Clarke, but she also felt a bit nervous and intimidated when she approached a car thief, and that adrenaline was addicting.

Clarke did not notice when she sat down next to her. She could announce her presence by starting a conversation. She could start a conversation by saying "Hello, Clarke," like she always did, like a robot, which was why Lincoln had nicknamed her Alexa, or she could do what she supposed other people did and ask Clarke what she was drawing. That seemed redundant. Clarke was obviously drawing the flowers. OR she could sit there deliberating all day until Clarke got startled and asked her how long she had been sitting there for. Any decision is better than no decision.

"What are you drawing?"

Clarke emerged from her reverie with a little start and the moment her gaze landed on Lexa, she smiled. The real kind. A Duchenne smile. "Oh," she responded thoughtfully, "I just saw these flowers, and I thought they were pretty... and sad. But it's moving. That someone put them there for him. Maybe it was someone who loved him... or maybe it was one of the first responders. Or a total stranger..."

Lexa nodded in understanding as they both gazed at the flowers. 

"Actually, two people put flowers," Clarke remembered. "But you probably knew that. The first flowers are gone now, though."

"Some thoughtless fuck probably took them."

"Harsh," Clarke admonished her gently. "You don't know that..." She pursed her lips, ready to back up her reasoning. "Maybe someone just thought someone had tied them to the tree to cheer someone up. Like a random act of kindness... I don't know. And if they did, in their defense, it wasn't really obvious that it was a memorial or anything. They weren't really the kind of colors... It was probably some sweet but clueless cop dude just making his best shot, or something," she theorized with a wry smile. "It's the thought that counts. Gas station flowers or a legit arrangement, in the end it was a thoughtful thing to do, either way."

Lexa listened, quietly, but very intently. Clarke's take was intriguing to her, even if the first comment had made Lexa's cheeks warm with embarrassment. She nodded, to show that she was processing what Clarke was saying. It was honestly a lot to think about. 

"Lexa... It was you that put them there, wasn't it?" Clarke intuited, in that way of hers.

How in the _jesus fuck_ did she do that?! What had given her away? Lexa wanted to know, immediately. Was she bad at hiding it, or was Clarke simply good at telling it?

"How did you know that," Lexa interrogated her. She needed answers. 

"I have my ways, Sherlock," Clarke told her good-naturedly. "You put the second one up, too, after the first one disappeared, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think that was really sweet of you, Lexa," Clarke told her sincerely.

"I didn't do it for pats on the head, or to prove anything." Lexa felt the need to make this known to Clarke. "I just did it for him, or else no-one else would have."

Clarke flashed her a wide smile. "I know." _That and everything else, apparently_.

* * *


	24. The Other Woman (Clarke POV with Anya)

We were not in good territory. Clarke was not in good territory; she knew that, but she couldn’t abate her suspicion and curiosity in any other way. Anya wasn’t a friend. The artist could assume that much. Lexa was extremely private about her relationship with Anya, and any inquiry about the name would earn Clarke a phrase like “It’s confidential.” Or “That’s not your concern.” Or “Boundary.” They were never wielded defensively against Clarke, nonetheless, Lexa had succeeded in making it clear that she didn’t feel like talking about Anya with her. Which seemed a tad unfair, given how often the brunette would refer to some wisdom Anya had shared with her, or a matter over which she would invite Anya’s opinion later.

Or that it was 11:45, and she had to make a phone call, in private, on the balcony, or out on the lawn, with Titus on a leash. Clarke had watched with curiosity as the older woman would speak with Anya on the phone. Sometimes she would wander aimlessly, shrugging and occasionally pausing to toe curiously at something she had spotted on the ground. Other times she would pace, frowning as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line, collecting rocks and pinecones from the ground one by one and hurling them into the bushes thoughtfully as she spoke.

_It made Clarke uneasy. Was that so wrong?_

So, when Lexa’s phone started ringing while the brunette was in the shower, the call display flashing ANYA 473-484-9869, Clarke impulsively whipped out her phone and took a picture of the number. The blonde wasn’t even sure herself what she intended to do with it at the time. She was acting purely on impulse. The shot of Lexa’s phone remained in her ‘recents’ album on her phone until one evening, when she returned home after drinks with Raven and Octavia, the blonde got the nerve to dial the number and hit ‘call’. Time for the truth. If she could handle it. She was feeling confident after draining a couple of mimosas at Oliver’s.

Her heart froze as the line started ringing. _Shit_. _Was this a good idea?_ Anya picked up. _Too late now._

“Yes, hello, this is Clarke,” Clarke began, her tone cutting. She needed the truth and she wasn’t afraid to get it from this woman.

“Yes, hello, this is Anya…”

“I’m Lexa’s girlfriend,” Clarke supplied the woman, impatiently.

“Uhh… Good for you? I hope she treats you like a queen,” The woman responded fecklessly.

“Good for me?!” Clarke laughed humorlessly, “Good that my girlfriend will drop everything to call you every night?!”

“How does that—,” there was a long pause on the other end of the like. “Oh. God. No. Clarke. Lexa is _NOT_ my girlfriend.” Laughter was erupting from the receiver. Clarke felt her cheeks burn.

“Sorry, she didn’t mention any sisters,” Clarke backtracked, a little bit horrified with herself already.

“She doesn’t have any.”

“Are you… like… a caretaker?”

“God! No… well, not in that way. Did Lexa tell you she was retarded or some shit?!”

“Then what— oh. Oh my god I’m sorry,’ Clarke responded shamefully as it dawned on her. Just gut feeling. Spidey senses. Lexa never drank a drop of alcohol around her. The triangle-in-circle tattoo between her right thumb and pointer. _That wasn’t like a Harry Potter symbol… The circle and the triangle._ “You’re her sponsor, aren’t you?”

“Well, that’s supposed to be information for Lexa to share with you at her own pace but yeah, since you figured it out, I’m Lexa’s sponsor.”

Clarke dragged a hand over her face. _Fuck. So. Not. Appropriate._ Of her to be calling this woman and meddling in Lexa’s life like this, trying to gain a new angle on the enigmatic brunette. “Fuck,” she replied when she had the nerve, and the humility. “God, I feel so stupid right now…”

“Yeah. Well,” the matter of fact voice replied. “You’re welcome. You should. You should feel downright retarded. Like Lexa does, sometimes.”

Clarke slammed her eyes shut. _Ouch._ Well, Anya wasn’t wrong, however blunt she was being. “Fuck,” she reiterated into the receiver.

“Alright, well. Mistakes made. Knowledge gained. Case closed. Bye. And maybe stop snooping your girlfriend’s shit…”

“Wait!” This couldn’t be it. She had called Anya for answers and perhaps to gain some insights on Lexa. She couldn’t hang up feeling like this.

“What?”

“I just,” Clarke began, silently praying that Anya would be interested in helping her out. “I’m sorry. I just get… worried. About whether I’m doing this right… I have no-one to talk to. Besides Lexa… we don’t really have, like, mutual friends. And if I ask my friends for advice… Well, they don’t have anything helpful to say,” she spilled to Anya. “This isn’t territory they’re familiar with either.”

There was a meditative pause on the other end of the line. Had she gone and done it again? Said something stupid and over the line?

“I can get that,” came Anya’s voice. Clarke’s shoulders slumped a bit in relief.

“Clarke. I can get that you have good intentions here. Probably because Lexa tried to guard herself with one of her big scary disclaimers... to test you. Your openness to her. Which I _told_ her not to do; she doesn’t walk around all day with it written on a visi-vest and she gets along just fine.”

“I just… yeah,” Clarke agreed wholeheartedly, “I’m kind of thrown for a loop with this girl sometimes, Anya, she’s just—“

“Different?”

“Yeah, in a really good way, I just don’t know how to help her or what I should help her with or how I should go about doing this…”

Anya chuckled softly. “Clarke. You’re overthinking this. Stop.”

“I know, but—“

“Clarke. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Lexa is every bit as goddamn confused about YOU and how to approach you... I don’t even have to ask. I bet she could only know how to walk up and talk to you for the first time by riding your ass about some building security shit...”

Clarke snorted. This wasn’t wrong, looking back.

“Yeah...” She agreed with a smile.

“You’re calling strangers all hung on how to date Lexa and the only way she knew how to flirt with you was probably by being professional and bitchy at you,” Anya pointed out bluntly. Clarke was giggling a bit.

“That was on the nose,” she agreed, feeling a little better.

“Yeah, well. That’s why they love me,” Anya commented dismissively. “You intimidate her, Clarke. She’s not used to people doing that nowadays. It threw her. She goes back to what she knows when she doesn’t know how to deal with people. Professional boundaries, protocols, rules... She draws her line in the sand and watches to see what they do with that. She likes to watch and wait when she doesn’t know how to act. “

“Fair,” Clarke agreed. “Hopefully it rubs off on me,” she added with a rueful giggle.

“Yeah. Well. She’s just doing her best for you, which is all she’s got. Even if she comes off as aloof and abrupt at times.”

“I don’t mind,” Clarke asserted.

“Well yeah, that’s because the huge secret is out with you that she’s actually a teddy bear,” Anya pointed out. “Which she will appreciate you keeping to yourself, by the way…”

“Mmm…” Clarke said. Was it wrong that she loved how sweet and sensitive Lexa could be? She liked sharing that with Raven and Octavia when they talked about their partners.

“Okay, well. Anyways. She doesn’t even know she does it, but she intimidates _others_ when _others_ intimidate _her._ She’d probably tell you _‘It’s tactical’_ if you brought it up.”

“She does love that word,” Clarke smiled.

“Love it? She fucking lives by it. Even though I’m always trying to convince her to relax a bit… Anyways. There’s probably something else you have noticed about Lexa. Let’s spell it out, while I’m in the mood. The charm of Lexa is that she gives no fucks. If she gives one about you, well... she opens herself to damage. And fucking up. She’s got a really tender heart, Clarke. Don’t let her throw you. And she will also agonize over your comfort and safety.”

“Makes total sense,” the blonde agreed, lapsing into silence. She considered how the woman could stand before an upset lawyer, looking tired and bored as he berated her over a parking ticket, and yet manage to grieve the sad, lonely death of a complete stranger. “Anya, she’s so fucking special,” she wondered aloud.

“That’s a Radiohead song. Well. Obviously she sees something very special in you. She’s afraid she’ll fuck it up if she gets involved with you. She guards her heart very carefully. She falls hard. And fast. That’s _my_ disclaimer to _you_.”

“Warnings and disclaimers, now I know how you guys speak each-other’s language,” Clarke teased gently.

“Yup…” There was silence on the other end of the line. Clarke sensed Anya weighing on indulging her with a valuable piece of information about Lexa.

“And Clarke... the rap thing... she knows what it projects. And what the inconsistencies with her image are there, being a hip-hop head. And white, and female, and maybe on the spectrum, and a stickler for rules, and whatever else… She gets all cranky if she notices you think it’s cute. Forgive her for that. She has her reasons for not wanting to be cute. Have you seen what can happen to cute, innocent things in this life, Clarke? That’s one thing Lexa will never encourage you to look up on the internet… But she’ll tolerate it. She has to learn one way or the other how to do that in a relationship.

_“But._ But. If you are offended... if you are judging her by her choice in music because it has explicit language, topics, misogyny, crime, violence, whatever... I hope she will know better than to give a fuck… She just needs it Clarke. It helps her make sense of her life. Her ex made a huge deal about it. About the misogyny and violence... tried to preach Lexa away from it. Even tried to tell Lexa that she wasn’t “sensitive enough” to be “autistic”… Like, seriously. What the hell?!

“Clarke... she likes it because it’s music she can relate to. Costia never asked if Lexa likes rap because misogyny and abuse were familiar to her. Sorry if I break your heart a little with what I’m about to say,” Anya cautioned, “But that’s what little kids do, right? Hear something, like it, walk around showing it off like the f-word.”

Clarke blew out a long sigh. That _was_ as Anya had anticipated, a little hard for her to think about. A being as sensitive as Lexa, somehow surviving the harsh realities of a life that had been overall good, but consistently challenging.

“This is a pro-tip,” Anya advised. “You should write this down. If you are ever really hung and getting nowhere with her, remind her to listen to her favorite song.”

“Which would be?”

“You writing this down?”

“Should I be?!”

“Yep. It’s _“Warning”_ by Biggie Smalls. It calms her down. I don’t know. You don’t have to read too much into it. You probably shouldn’t. “

Clarke pursed her lips, penning the name of the song onto a piece of scrap paper. Just the title sent a pang of sadness through her. She felt tears threatening her, only for an instant.

“Clarke, you got that? Just leave her alone and let her listen to Warning. On repeat. She’ll feel safe, and re-set herself, usually with the rest of her rap playlists, and talk to you when she’s ready, which will probably be fairly quickly.”

“Got it. Anya... thanks.”

“Meh.”

“No, really,” Clarke insisted. “You didn’t have to do this. It really helped. I feel… Less alone in this thing. Not that Lexa makes me feel lonely, or anything—“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Well, I’ve gotta let you go back into the wild, girl. I’ve got a meeting to get ready for.”

_“_ Okay, well, thanks again. Sorry for accusing you of…. Whatever I thought you were up to with Lexa.”

“Yep. Bye.”


	25. Cultural Appropriation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a light little interlude

The bus lurched, air brakes letting up, and rattled forward. Lexa was unbothered by the commotion, so long as she had some sort of lyrics or audiobook to mitigate the sensory barrage. She was gazing out the window, hand absently stroking Clarke’s, earbuds in, immersed in a explicit-labeled world of diss-tracks and convoluted lyrics. She felt comfortable jamming out on the bus. _“Do you know the shit bus drivers see,”_ she had inquired animatedly of Clarke once. _“People do the most fucked up things. The other day there was a guy literally smoking crack on the bus. Nobody said anything. He just finished his hit, and got off at the next stop...”_

_ “ The recipe, a pinch of hardcore with a gun _

_ Pimpin’ ain’t easy, but it sure is fun _

_When I bust my nuts, I bust ‘em one by—_ “

Clarke was clapping a hand over Lexa’s mouth, shooting an apologetic look to an disbelieving-looking african-american woman seated across from them, her own hands clamped firmly about her eight-year-old son’s ears. Clarke turned back to the woman she had apparently rudely interrupted, lowering her hand from Lexa’s mouth as the brunette paused her music.

“Was I rapping loudly? I didn’t realize…” she hit play again, licking her lips to continue spitting lyrics. Clarke grabbed the phone hastily out of her hand, pausing it again. 

“I don’t think volume’s the issue, Lexa,” she explained carefully to her perplexed girlfriend. “I don’t think that lady over there wants her kid hearing that sort of thing.”

Lexa’s gaze wandered to the mother and son, and back. She responded in a lower voice. “But I haven’t cursed,” she observed. 

Clarke’s cheeks felt hot. Now they were staring and whispering, which seemed to make the woman no more comfortable. She was fixing Lexa with an indignant stare, her eyebrow quirked, listening carefully. 

“Is it because they’re black, Clarke,” Lexa pressed her quietly, “Am I appropriating their culture?”

“No, just—,” Clarke paused to strategize a bit. As the time spent together and trust had grown between them, Clarke had become Lexa’s panel expert on social cues and situations. She squeezed Lexa’s hand reassuringly as she leaned to whisper in her ear, “ Shut up, Lexa. ”

Lexa leaned back to gaze at her, enlightenment flickering in her eyes. She still looked to Clarke as though she was internally fighting the urge to ask another question that, of course, couldn’t possibly wait to be asked at a better time.

“I’ll ask you later,” Lexa whispered in an impressive exercise of restraint. 

“Okay.” Clarke planted a kiss on her cheek, to recognize Lexa’s efforts. They both glanced down at Lexa’s phone. She was choosing out an album by Macklemore.


	26. Fine Suit (Explicit)

On some Saturdays, Clarke would let herself into Lexa's apartment as the brunette finished her shift at Trikru 3, just to relax, do some art, hang out with Titus and welcome Lexa home. It wasn't that Clarke felt the need to get away from her own place-- But, well, she did, she supposed. Renting the basement from her mother had been a good move for both of them, emotionally and financially, but the blonde found herself at times a bit too distracted in her own place. By the clutter, the chores she had not yet surmounted, even her own mother. 

It had been Lexa that brought up the idea of cutting Clarke a key for her apartment, actually. Though Clarke had at first been nervous of intruding or disrupting Lexa's space, the brunette's enthusiasm for the move had not yet waned. "You can use your tablet at the desk," Lexa had urged her. "Have something to eat... Titus would love some company. I'd love coming home to you, too." 

And so, only a short while into their relationship, Clarke had gained a key to Lexa's place. "Please use it," the brunette had reminded her anxiously. "And besides," Lexa reassured Clarke, "No real security concerns. You are the only human other than me that Titus won't eat for supper if you enter my apartment. So just make sure he doesn't escape when you let yourself in."

Lexa's apartment was nowhere near as cool as Clarke's basement in the summer heat, but the blonde had made herself comfortable with the small air conditioner Lexa owned, on the couch with her pencils and sketch pad, while Titus claimed the spot on the couch in the square of sunlight that filtered through the window. Clarke at last heard the sound of the key turning in the front door. Lexa cracked the door open, pushing into Titus back so she could make her entry. 

"Hello, Clarke," She called. It was like Lexa was psychic, in that way. She couldn't have spotted Clarke's shoes by the door just yet. Perhaps she deduced from Titus' reaction to her homecoming that he already had company. Clarke pushed from the couch, entering the hall as the brunette had pushed past Titus into the apartment and secured the door behind her. Green eyes met Clarke's. 

Did she know how hot she looked, in just her shirtsleeves, black slacks, black tie and dress shoes? _Of course not_. That was the hottest thing about seeing Lexa after work. It was a warm day. Her sleeves were rolled up to exposed her inky forearms, and her hair curled slightly out of the tight braid from the humidity of the summer day. "Titus, off." She commanded the dog, taking a happy Clarke into her arms and pressing a kiss to her lips. "I love seeing you here when I get home," Lexa murmured truthfully into her ear. 

"How was your day" Clarke inquired, savoring the domesticity of the greeting. And the suit. Definitely the suit, and the beautiful package it contained. 

"Well, I have to re-stock my Survival Kit," Lexa began, shrugging her pack off and hanging it up, unzipping it before going to a chest of drawers in the hallway in which she stored a trove of travel-sized toiletries and little zipper bags. Clarke was at first unsure of what exactly the guard meant. It came to her fairly quickly. _This was a 'secret service' thing that Lexa was talking about._ "Jeff was sleeping at the beach last night and someone stole his whole pack... His meds for his M.S. with it, poor guy... He kept asking me for fifteen dollars and I kept telling him I don't carry cash... He was pretty rattled over the whole thing, so on my break I found him and gave him a Survival Kit..."

Rummaging distractedly through, she found a toiletry bag and began packing items into it... toiletries, a chocolate bar, a packet of cigarettes, a lighter, a pen, a small book of crosswords... Clarke trailed after her, gently drawing Lexa away from her task by the clip-on tie ("It _is_ tactical," Lexa had insisted proudly to her, "Seriously. Someone could choke me out with a regular tie. Try it, Clarke, try choking me out!") pressing a kiss to her cheek. Lexa was at first reluctant to abandon her task, but soon found herself indulging the blonde in a long, slow kiss. 

Fully distracted from the task of packing her bag, she stepped back for a moment, her hands remaining on Clarke's hips, to survey her form appraisingly. Clarke was wearing nothing special, or so she thought: a pair of jean shorts, a comfy sports-bra, and one of Lexa's cutoff shirts (hers had gotten damp in the heat and was now in the laundry hamper), this one emblazoned with a Lil Kim album cover. Where the shirt would have been oversized for Lexa, it clung to Clarke's curves in a way that the brunette apparently appreciated. The blonde caught her bottom lip in her teeth as she watched Lexa drink her in. 

"You have good taste in shirts," Lexa commended her before leaning in for a kiss that was a little more enthusiastic than the last one. 

"Mmm," Clarke moaned musically into the kiss. Titus sat before the two and let out a moan of his own, participating. 

"Titus..." Lexa groaned, about to reluctantly extricate herself from Clarke's thralls. 

"I fed him already. He's playing you," the blonde giggled knowingly against Lexa's lips, grinding her hips playfully into the other woman's. _She wanted her. Now._ Lexa hummed against Clarke's lips, but something yet withheld her from returning affections. "Go wash your hands, Lex," Clarke thought to instruct her. The slightly taller woman jumped to comply. A wide grin graced Clarke's face as she watched Lexa disappear into the washroom. Moments later, the blast of the tap could be heard, accompanied by the sound of a scrub brush. Lexa was very particular about washing her hands before engaging in any sort of intimacy with Clarke; she couldn't relax until her hands were clean and free of any outside germs. It made sense. It was reassuring. 

Lexa reappeared in the hallway, approaching Clarke again with purpose. Her foresty irises had darkened a bit, and she tugged the blonde in for another long kiss. 

"Heel, girl," Clarke murmured playfully as she took the woman by her tie again, drawing her toward the bedroom. Lexa followed closely, on a slack leash. _Someone was excited._ When they got to the bed, Clarke clambered on, scooting back against the pillows and headboard in time to watch Lexa come up after her, enthralled. The stronger woman found her way between Clarke's thighs, open in invitation, as the two returned to their furious kissing. Breaking momentarily for air, Lexa took Clarke's bottom lip between her teeth, groaning loudly as the shapely thighs tightened around her trunk and Clarke ground against her abdomen. 

The artist watched Lexa withdraw from the kiss, pushing herself eagerly down her body and leaning up for a moment to tug anxiously at the snap to her jean shorts. They managed to tug them, over Clarke's sloping hips and dispose of them with one well-aimed shot toward the laundry hamper. Lexa moved fluidly down between the younger woman's thighs, nosing her lace-clad crotch with a hungry groan. 

"Lexxx..." Clarke's fingers cupped the back of the brunette's braid and she rocked her hips against Lexa's lips imploringly. The brunette took her time, thoroughly enjoying the texture and scent of Clarke's lace-clad sex over her lips. When the blonde was seriously beginning to consider removing her own underwear, Lexa snuck the thong aside with two long fingers, delving into her with a long lick from entrance to clit. Clarke howled softly. The slick, warm tongue lathed her folds seeking up every last trace of wetness before descending to her entrance, teasing for more. 

Digging her heels into the mattress, Clarke pushed up against Lexa's stiffened tongue, impaling herself on it eagerly. That made them both whimper in quiet ecstasy. One of Lexa's hands drifted to a round buttock to knead it encouragingly, while the other arm curled over her thigh, fingers finding her navel and skittering downward, seeking out her clitoris. Two dextrous fingers found either side of the swelling bud, manipulating it gently. 

"Breathe," Lexa reminded her. Had she stopped? She hadn't noticed. Clarke sucked a loud breath between her kiss-swollen lips as Lexa sucked her... down there...

"Lexa, Lexa, it's so good; you're so good," Clarke whined as the older woman's tongue plundered her channel. "Need you up here," she urged after some moments. The taller girl pushed herself up, her gaze connecting with Clarke's pupils blown. The watercolor pink dappling was beginning to creep across her collarbones. They both tugged Lexa's pants and underwear off. After a frustratingly long row of buttons to be undone, the shirt and plain nude sports bra followed. This time, the clothes landed carelessly on the floor. 

"Mmm," Lexa whined hoarsely as she straddled Clarke's thigh, pushing her slick folds against the top of the supple skin as she pushed two fingers into Clarke. _She was nonverbal_. Clarke had come to know when this happened to Lexa and understand the full implications. Lexa could still (and loved to) hear her, but she herself was beyond words now. The blonde had studied and learned Lexa in this state; the tone of her sounds, the expressions of her face and the tilt of her head. When Lexa was enjoying herself, she looked downright pained. If she was further worked up, she would thrash her head-- almost as if she were saying 'no'. Clarke knew better now. It meant 'keep doing that'. 

Best of all was when Lexa would push her face into the crook of Clarke's neck like she was doing right now, hiding from all the stimulating sights and sounds and honing in on the smell and feel of Clarke. It meant she was close to coming. So was Clarke. 

"Sweetie, sweetie, fuck me just like that, Lexa, I'm so close, baby," Clarke poured urgently; praisingly into Lexa's ear as she traced her nails along the lithe, tattooed back. What a sight to behold. The small of Lexa's back was coated in a sheen of perspiration. Awed, the blonde watched Lexa's hips piston down onto her, feeling the slippery heat building on the ridge of her hip. "Fuck me, Lexa," she panted. _SO_ , _so close..._

A piercing whimper cut the air and Lexa's hips snapped furiously against her body. Within her, the long fingers curled up into that spot that caused Clarke to cry out and shake. The blonde sobbed as orgasm washed over her. _Short, sharp huffs against her neck. Lexa was coming with her. Chasing her over the edge._ Rooted inseparably, the women shook hard, bodies positively wracked with ecstasy, Clarke had no idea how long for. 

At last, Lexa relaxed bonelessly into her body, soft pants and whimpers issuing into her neck. Bringing her arms up, Clarke threw them around the brunette's neck, hugging her closely as she struggled for breath herself. For a long time they remained like that: panting, clinging, shaken. At length, Lexa rolled off her and collapsed beside her, head hitting the pillow, a small, satisfied smile curving her lips. 

"Hi," she said triumphantly, at last able to speak. 

"Hi, beautiful girl," Clarke purred, reaching up to finger an escaped brown wisp of hair before tucking it back behind Lexa's ear. "Wow."

"That's all you have to say? After all my hard work?"

_"Shut up, Lexa."_

The brunette collapsed on the pillow with a huff. She traced Clarke's brow and temple thoughtfully.

"Whatcha thinking?" Clarke inquired sleepily.

"We have good sex."

"We do. I like it."

"Mhm," Lexa agreed, running her fingers through the blonde curls and watching them drop off her fingers. "I...," she mused. "It's good. I know it's different for you," she acknowledged.

"Different, but hot."

"Yeah... I think so," the brunette agreed. "Thanks for always letting me do my thing... You make me feel so good."

Clarke scanned Lexa's features before smiling a small smile.

"Likewise, Lex, believe me."

"I do. And you believe me," Lexa observed with satisfaction. "Not that-- just. Yeah. I know I communicate.... differently. But you take it in stride."

"I _love_ watching you," Clarke responded without pause.

"Well... you do a good job. Because you make me feel so relaxed... I get so turned on... I come so hard."

"Did you not before," Clarke pried, genuinely curious.

"Well, it was nobody's fault," Lexa began. "It's just... a tricky combination. With the looking like I'm saying 'no'... when I mean 'yes'... and then to top it all off, I can't even talk if I'm relaxed enough... turned on enough."

"Fair."

"I mean... It's nobody's fault. But it's frustrating... to not be able to just say 'Yes' sometimes," Lexa spoke slowly. "And scary... to not be able to say 'No'..."

"Well, I'm honored. That you let me in like that."

Lexa lifted her eyes, offering a small smile at that. Glancing down, she frowned lightly as she traced some faint rub marks under Clarke’s breasts, where the band of her bra would sit. 

“Real bras,” she murmured ruefully. Clarke’s terminology. 

“Real bras,” Clarke agreed. 

“Does it bother you ever? That I don’t wear them?”

“No, baby,” Clarke asserted softly, concern ghosting her brow. “Not at all.”

“Good. Just asking.”

“Honestly I’d ditch underwire if it wasn’t for the size of these girls,” Clarke confided, looking down to her chest plumping her breasts demonstratively. 

“Beautiful girls. Root of all problems,” Lexa chuckled as she leaned over Clarke, placing her hands over the blonde’s and laying several kisses to the tops of Clarke’s breasts.

The artist moaned appreciatively. Lexa’s fondness for her breasts was both adorable and hot. The older woman would sometimes linger on them, lavishing her affections there until Clarke was wild with need. She seemed to revel in the feel of running her lips over all the most sensitive places, and feeling their weight in her palms. By the time she was ready to take a straining nipple between her lips, Clarke would be halfway there. Sometimes, Clarke wondered if she could orgasm simply from Lexa’s attentions on her breasts, but she hadn’t yet found the patience to test the theory. It was all good. 

Not without a good deal of reluctance, Clarke urged Lexa gently up from her chest. "Dinner in an hour," she reminded the woman, groaning inwardly. She had taken great pains to book a reservation at her favorite steak place, though, convincing the staff over the phone to reserve the quietest part of the restaurant a week in advance.

"Mmm," Lexa groaned sullenly, obliging the blonde with a chaste kiss to the lips. "You like penetration," she observed as she relaxed next to Clarke again.

"Did I give you impressions otherwise?" Clarke giggled, smacking Lexa lightly on the shoulder. "Start getting ready, horndog."

"I will," Lexa promised in a small, insistent voice, pushing herself up to regard Clarke with curiosity. "But that's not what I meant... Um." She drew in a breath, gaze wandering off in search of the right words. "Would you be interested in a strapon?" She quizzed Clarke at last. The blonde blinked.

"Like... a..."

"Only--, _only_ if you're curious, or you know you want it already," Lexa qualified.

"To wear, or..."

"To take," Lexa supplied her.

"I haven't actually... I don't know, I guess," Clarke realized. In truth, this was her first serious relationship with another woman. Could a strap-on be very different, length or girth-wise, from what she had in straight relationships? She bit her lip, her mind wandering to the worst case scenario; the massive sort of dong Raven would chase her with if they went to an adult store together.

"As big or as small as you're comfortable with," Lexa swore to her. "I have something in mind, but it comes in a pretty wide range of sizes."

Clarke pursed her lips, her eyes drifting to the table lamp on the dresser. "I guess... so long as it's not huge," she decided. "Actually, average or even smaller than average... I guess that's what would probably feel best..."

Lexa was already grabbing for her phone, opening the browser, prepared to look up catalogs and probably educate Clarke out the wazoo on her preferred strap-ons.

"Lex. The answer is _yes. Put_ that away for now. Get ready."The brunette cast her a martyred look before tossing her phone aside and pushing herself up. God, she was gorgeous, even when pouting about putting clothes on. Clarke caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. "I look... fucked," she laughed, running a hand through the tousled waves.

"Stop saying my favorite word like it's a bad thing!"

"Lexa. Underwear. Pants. Let's go."

"Okay! Okay."


	27. 02:40 am

“Whatcha doin’?” Clarke whispered as she padded over to the kitchen table where Lexa sat in her sweats, leaned over her journal. Her earbuds were in. A nearly empty container of some of their takeaway from the steakhouse was on the counter. On the screen of her phone, a browser page was opened to some rap lyrics. She was copying them into her journal, a page and a half into the endeavor. Pausing, she reached for her mug, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee.

“Gaining street knowledge,” Lexa murmured back absently, putting down her pen and taking up a blue highlighter _“Blue represents truth, Clarke.”_ and a ruler to stroke the ink over some verses. 

_I just wanna live, I don't wanna ever have to load a clip_  
_Only hunt bliss_  
_I am still a kid in my heart_  
_But these motherfuckers sick_

“Mmmkay,” Clarke returned with a squeeze of Lexa’s shoulder, leaning down to drop a kiss on her cheek. The brunette leaned affectionately into her, but her gaze remained focused on the task. 

“Go sleep, Clarke.”

She slid the ruler down several verses, highlighting again. 

_Look into my eyes_  
_I am standing at your side for the fight_  
_Minds over might_  
_Swear to God_  
_They could barely even see the dog_  
_They don't see the size of the fight_

“See you soon?” Clarke urged quietly as she drifted to the sink, pulling a glass from the cupboard and running the tap until the water was cold and crisp. Filling her glass, she raised it for a drink. Lexa paused reflexively to reach out for her black coffee, taking a sip. 

“Mhm,” She promised. Down slid the ruler. She poised the highlighter between graceful fingers. “Twenty minutes or so.”

_Make love, smoke kush, fight, or laugh hard, and live long_  
_That's the antidote_  
_You defeat the devil when you hold onto hope_  
_'Cause kinfolk life is beautiful_  
_And we ain't gotta die for them other men_  
_And I refuse to kill another human being_  
_In the name of a government_  
_'Cause I don't study war no more_  
_I don't hate the poor no more_  
_Gettin' more ain't what's more_  
_Only thing more is the love_  
_So when you see me, please greet me with a heart full_  
_And a pound and a hug_

True to her word, Lexa was slipping back under the sheets with Clarke twenty minutes later. Noticing the blonde still awake, she pulled the artist into her arms.

"Can't get back to sleep?"

"Mmm. Just thinking about work."

"Stop that, then."

Clarke giggled. It was Lexa's own brand of humor; reducing such difficult tasks down to a succinct direction. "I'll get right on it," she whispered ruefully.

"Do you meditate?"

"Like... just think of nothing? I've never managed that in my life," Clarke confessed. "Not for lack of trying, I promise."

"I get it. I meditate on words. It helps."

"Words?"

"Yeah, like... just words I like the sound of." Lexa paused, inhaling thoughtfully. "I don't know if everyone feels this, but words... words feel like they sound to me... just... For instance, all the words for 'calm'... just sound and feel calm to me. So by saying the synonyms in my head or out loud, I can calm myself down."

"Is that what the 'compose' tattoo is about," Clarke wanted to know. She couldn't see it in the dark, but she could trace the text on the inside of Lexa's left forearm.

"Yeah. That's my favorite word to meditate on."

"Hm." Clarke pondered. "Makes sense, I mean... when you speak you're so direct and..."

"...Verbose?"

Clarke grinned into Lexa's shoulder. "There's a new one for my dictionary." she teased. "So, what do you meditate on to get to sleep?"

"Usually? If I'm alone; If I'm really spun, I start with all the synonyms for 'sleep'. Rest... Repose... Slumber... Dream... Drowse... Doze..."

"Mmm. That does sound nice," Clarke agreed, savoring the ring to the words as Lexa pronounced them in her soft, low voice. "So you use different ones when you're not alone?"

"Yeah."

"Which ones?"

"Clarke."

"What?"

"Just... Clarke," Lexa explained readily. "I just... Clarke, I just love the sound of your name. It feels... clear. Bright. Clean. Soft. I don't know. I just... I can't explain it."

On top of Lexa's shoulder, Clarke's cheek was warming. Love expanded in her chest.

"That's sweet."

"Well, it's true."

The brunette gave her a squeeze of assurance, raising a hand to trace her fingers with feathery gentleness over the younger woman's features.

"Clarke..." She whispered, nuzzling the blonde hair. "Clarke... Clarke........ Clarke.......... Clarke........."

Without further struggle, the blonde drifted away right there, snugged into the strong shoulder, the sound of Lexa's voice saying her name lingering in her ears.


	28. Dungeoning (Lexa and Aden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's on a mission. She has an initiate to teach.

Lexa's head whipped to the wall clock. It was 1511. By the time she readied herself and went downstairs to Apartment 207, it would be 1515 on the dot. He had better be ready, though Lexa was prepared to accep the fact that he, in all likeliness, wouldn't be.

She had found the young man on local play on Call of Duty. He was alright. The two had gotten to know each-other better, which usually happened over voice chat rather than down or up a floor, in person, at one-another's places. Lexa herself had little desire to be in Aden's apartment unless, as she called it, a 'rescue' was necessary. On the rare occasion that Aden found himself at Lexa's place, he would usually wear his welcome out at a moderate pace, as he set drinks down without coasters, used the bathroom without lifting the toilet seat, and surreptitiously fed Titus cheetos. Lexa and Aden had their own thing going. There was no need to be guests in one-another's home, and both preferred it that way.

Over time, Lexa had gathered bits and snippets of Aden's story. For the majority of his teenage years, Aden had bounced back and forth between fancy independent schools, boot camps, and retreat-style gaming rehabilitation centers. At the tender, yet technically adult age of twenty-one, Aden's family had thrown in the towel, rented an economical studio apartment for the young man, paid for his current gaming setup, and (as per Aden's request) only came to check on him every once in a while, and perhaps attempt a cleanup of his apartment or a grocery drop-off.

If asked what he was doing with his life, the response Aden would offer most readily was that he was "figuring it out", and choosing which educational path to take with his apparently off-the-charts intelligence. If Lexa was asked what Aden was doing with his life, she had a term for it: _fuck-all._ She was aware of the connotations others gave this term, and so she wisely kept it to herself.

The brown-haired woman knocked on the door several times. Titus stared with cocked ears at the door as they both waited for some indication that Aden was alive, and not fossilized to the computer chair, as Lexa sometimes imagined Aden in an alternate reality where they had never met.

" _BITCH-ASS-NO-ACCOUNT-FUCKS!!!_ "

There it was. _The flame_. In spite of herself, Lexa's lips curled into a smirk. A sure sign of at least some vitality in the boy. She tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

“You left your door unlocked,” she scolded into the apartment as she let Titus and herself in. She dropped the leash. Titus made a bee-line for the couch, where he was sure to find several morsels of pizza crust or broken Doritos nestled among the cushions. Grumbling at the disarray of the apartment, Lexa proceeded down the hall without removing her shoes. She didn't dare contaminate her socks here. Cautiously, she pushed the bedroom door open.

It was truly not as bad as Lexa made it out to be in her imagination. The window was open, at least, allowing some muted sunlight to backlight the gauzy blue curtains and shine upon the rumpled bedsheets in a neat square. Clothes littered the floor, and overflowing closet opened on one side of the room, and the trash can overflowed with empty Mountain Dew bottles and tissues... Lexa disallowed herself from looking any further. She was here for Aden, not an intervention.

"Lexa. Check it," demanded the man seated at the computer desk. He looked younger than his twenty-one years, albeit tired far beyond them. His wavy red-blonde hair neared his chin in length, but was at least clean and lustrous. He had a boyish countenance that the patchy beard he insisted on keeping could not mature. His blue eyes were alight with intellect and curiosity, burned though they were by countless hours trained upon the seductive bluish glow of the computer screen.

“What am I looking at?” She asked disinterestedly as she trained her gaze on the screen.

"The Unbroken Helm of the Templar," Aden proclaimed, pointing with wonder to a little box on the screen, which had a pixelated picture of a crusade-era looking helmet, and various statistics on the piece of equipment.

Lexa drew a breath, her eyes wandering for the words as her hands rose to help her articulate.

“Aden... I don’t really give a fuck,” she admitted. “You said you would come to the store with me. Bets were lost. Promises were made, remember?”

Lexa had slain the younger man a week prior in an intense one-on-one match on Modern Warfare. Her request for winning was curious, maybe, but she disallowed Aden any questions on the matter. He had to help her shop. The male sagged defeatedly into the computer chair, twisting to and fro with little pushes of his feet.

"Fine," he groaned at last, peeling his skinny form from the chair. "I need to change, hang on."

Wordlessly, Lexa turned and left the room. Her necessary time spent in Aden's inner sanctum was over. "See you outside. I'm going for a smoke. Don't take ages, okay?"

"Yeah..." The lanky man was sliding into a shirt and dodging into the bathroom now, reaching for the can of Axe. Behind his back, Lexa mimed a retching motion before going off in search of Titus.

_"TITUS, OUT."_

The dog had found the kitchen garbage sitting out, exposed and unguarded. His snout nearly touched the bottom of it. Seeing a discarded box for chicken wings close by, Lexa flung herself on the dog. Time was of the essence. Hauling the dog bodily out of the bin, she wrapped a hand around top and bottom of his jaw, opening it for quick exam. Titus coughed buffalo breath into her face. His throat was clear of any evidence of chicken wing bones. She released him quickly with a reassuring rub.

"Good boooooy, Titus," Lexa sang uncharacteristically. Titus was neither a small nor a meek dog. She had only been able to drag him from his prize and stick hands and face in his mouth without warning because _he let her_. Swinging the fridge open, she continued to talk praisingly to the animal as she scanned for... Squeeze cheese. Flipping the top off the can, she squirted the cheddary reward down Titus's throat.

"You gotta watch it with the chicken bones, Aden," she shouted to the bathroom, "You know, they're like swallowing glass for a dog when they're cooked."

"Relax," came the voice from the bathroom, "They were boneless."

Lexa's shoulders sagged in relief. Narrowing her eyes at the box by the trash can, she beat Titus to it, examining it for any indication she might have missed that no danger was present. Finding none, she shrugged, releasing the box from her thumb and forefinger into the trash can, before replacing it under the sink, where in all honesty, it should have been.

"Well good, because... I don't want to be sending you any vet bills..."

"Whatever, Doctor Doolittle."

Snorting bemusedly, she fetched her dog, patted her pockets-- _keys, smokes, lighter, phone_ and let herself out the door.

* * *

Scarcely had she finished her cigarette, meandering after Titus about the rhododendrons outside the front of the building, when Aden appeared. He had with him some reuseable bags. _Good._ The initial agreement had been that he help Lexa carry her groceries, but if he wanted to do some shopping for himself, Lexa could only see good in that. Jerking her head westward, she began walking. The boys fell into step on either side of her as they began to make their way over to Roots Foods.

"So, when do I get to meet your girlfriend?" Aden wanted know. Lexa's shoulders hunched defensively.

"She's not-- she hasn't called herself that, yet. To me," she began. She paused to laugh. "God, I don't know, Aden. I guess... we haven't really had that conversation yet."

"But you take her on dates?"

"Yes."

"You're dating exclusively?"

"Yes."

"You guys have gotten it on?"

"Not. Your. Business, pervert."

"It was a valid question!"

"Well-- we've been... _intimate_ ," Lexa agreed, still reluctant to dispense such sensitive information to any of her male compatriots. She had a fear of the questions and conversations that came after, sometimes. They could one of three ways; either she was able to have a respectful conversation on the topic, or she couldn't, in which case the talk would drift either to an initiation into the 'boys' club', where it was apparently fine to divulge extremely sensitive information, even pictures, about one's girlfriend without her consent, OR the questioning took a voyeuristic, creepy turn. Lesbians were beacons for that sort of thing. She just didn't want Aden to mess up, and tend toward the last two ways. Even though, deep down, she trusted he was not that sort of man.

"Well, have you had _The Talk_ with her?"

"There's a talk? Jesus. And why are you the expert on this, and not me?!"

Aden sniggered as he withdrew a bottle of coke from his bag, uncapping it and taking a swig.

"Sorry, I'm just... trying to protect her honor," Lexa thought to apologize. "Do you know what Miller and Lincoln do to me at work, because we all like girls, Aden? Well, I'll tell you. They show me nudes of them. What in the actual hell."

Aden choked on his coke, grinning.

"Is that like a thing among males? Some sort of bonding," Lexa hypothesized, "What am I even supposed to do with that? They are flashing me without my or their girlfriend's consent."

Aden grimaced. "Sounds like... yeah. I doubt they have thought about what they're doing," he offered insightfully. There it was. The reason she tolerated

"Whatever, Lexa." He put his headphones in. Lexa followed suit. All three enjoyed the walk to the store, both together and in their own private experiences-- Aden's death metal bleating faintly through his headphones, Titus with his nose to the ground, and Lexa flowing occasionally, mouthing the words to the rap songs she knew by heart. As they drew nearer to the store, Lexa motioned for Aden to take his headphones out.

“Grocery stores are designed to rob you,” Lexa warned ominously as they neared the intersection. “What?!” Aden was smirking, eyes averted downward. He stumbled momentarily over his own oversized shoes. “Well, they are. you can smirk if you want,” Lexa asserted. “You already know this, Aden. Tell me how they don’t. Draw aggro, surround, misdirect, vanish… go in for the kill. All your garden-variety rogue movesets.”

"...and somehow, you make it in this world," Aden sniggered. "Nerd."

“You don’t believe me. Whatever. You’ll see it when we get there. Just remember, I walk out of these dungeons loaded with loot, no repairs… I solo them. With my hunter pet,” she added, nudging Titus fondly. "Dude. Headphones." As they entered the store, the two replaced their earbuds, ready to delve into the experience in whatever way they could.

* * *

_Experience_. They gained it. That was one for Lexa's daily _Favorite Words_ column, in her journal. Opening a note, she jotted it down so she wouldn't forget. To her (well-contained, completely internal) elation, Aden had actually picked up a job application for the store. And seemed excited about it. He had been made to feel by everyone, plus Matthew, the cashier and the store manager, exactly as smart and bright as he was, and as though his finer points would be put to great use of in the grocery store. That would go in Lexa's _Gratitudes_ column, which was right next to _Favorite Words_. She was excited to discuss it further with Aden as they hauled their loot home.

"Well, we'll see how it goes," Aden said reservedly. "I can't handle grocery stores. The overstimulation... my sensory issues... and I don't get social cues..." _So many second thoughts. Where the hell were they coming from?_ Lexa dodged out in front of Aden, physically stopping him.

"Dude." She impatiently reached forth to yank an earbud from Aden's ear. She gestured to Aden, just in his entirety, then back at the grocery store. "You can't do grocery stores? Aden, remember what you _just_ did?" Aden smiled wanly, but he still looked discouraged. "You made it out," Lexa badgered him. "Look, you're holding food. We're having a good time, right?"

"You know, it's not..."

“Well… what did they say on the aspie forums?" Lexa wanted to know.

"Basically all of my-- _valid--_ concerns about working in a grocery store," Aden stated, prepared to defend.

Irately, Lexa spun on her heel. _The people telling Aden what he couldn't do. She had to handle them correctly or Aden would only wind up feeling alienated and driven further toward the virtual echo chamber._

"Well," she responded, tempering her thoughts and measuring her words with great care, "I just think you would get a lot out of it, even if you only work one shift there," she ventured. Aden's face was unenthusiastic, but she knew he was listening.

"Aden... Grocery schooled me. Only reason I'm being all angry about it," she reminded him, as they began walking again. "Aden, my mom and dad couldn't even cook a dinner from scratch. They shopped, my mom sent my dad, but my dad would always come home all confused. And tired. And angry..." She cut herself short there.

"Aden, I learned fuck-all about feeding myself from my parents," she confessed. "So it's by the grace of god that I started working grocery at 16. Sometimes I sit and wonder where I'd be in life if I never got a minimum wage job... _Gifted_...," She snorted disdainfully. "' _Gift'_ me a fuckin’ break. Everyone thought I was too smart for minimum wage. Aden, you know people stand and ask me, and not always in a mean way, why I work for minuimum wage? You know that, right?"

He was listening.

"Like... because I passed some stupid tests and got put in a special class at school, that I'm... _too good_ for an honest job. Bunch of bullshit," she followed up with a grunt. "You get it, right? How we can do this, Aden? Job skills. Are the only life skills we wind up with sometimes. Sorry," she cut herself off. She didn't want to overwhelm the young man; she could tell her passion for the subject was causing him to shut himself further down to the idea of filling out the application.

"Shut up, Lexa," she reminded herself for Aden. "Just fill out the application, Aden. Drop it off. They'll hire you on the spot... You could upgrade your computer," she pointed out, sweetening the spot.

"I'll think about it."

“Look. I can get those folks... on the forums,” Lexa conceded. “But that’s why I can’t go on those things too much. Look where they got me. I stopped going on them. Look where I am now.”

Aden grinned knowingly. He was one of the few who could handle Lexa at full tilt, and not see her as arrogant.

“I have a girlfriend,” Lexa began with her favourite thing to note. “Food… a loyal pet… a mentee…” she nodded to Aden.

“I’m not your—“

“Whatever, padawan. Just walk the line. Do this thing with me. Be a man of your word.” Lexa descended into thought for a moment. “I’m not saying I’m superior to them, Aden,” she qualified. “Just that… Well, it's nice to go to those forums for the validation... But, most of the time, I think the last thing I need is a group of people who will only agree with me on what I can’t do…”

"They can't help being depressed," Aden pointed out fairly.

“No, they can't. Life beat them the fuck up,” Lexa said grimly. “Took their lunch money, trapped them in a locker. Hooked up with their crush… Then ridiculed them for it. The teachers just stood and watched. It was all they could do, mostly.” She pursed her lips. "But this school is alright, Aden. Not perfect, but nice. There's dogs allowed. And snacks," she observed brightly, pointing to their bags.

"Okay, Sacagawea... You gonna get us home? I have a raid to head up at five."

"Alright-- alright," Lexa started impatiently, turning again. They replaced their earbuds, and beat the path homeward.


	29. Run.

Lexa marched briskly down the street with Titus, her hand clutched properly in the leash. Once upon a time, she had been in the habit of winding Titus’ leash around her fingers, securely wrapping it so she would never, ever have to entertain the possibility of losing her best friend, or having him run away from her.

It was not the correct way to hold a leash. Dogs travel faster than humans a lot of the time. Four legs versus two. Dogs generally take stairs faster than humans, because they are slightly nervous of the obstacle. _Obstacle_. Good word, though often spoken as though it is a bad one.

Titus had once done no wrong other than scramble down a steep set of steps outside of the pet store on Tondc street. Seeing the busy road he was travelling toward, Lexa had stood fast at the stop of the steps, clutching the lead tightly. Titus hit the end of it, hard. A faint pain began spreading through her hand as Lexa slowed down the steps, adrenaline going. Before they had reached the house, her ring finger was all purple and swollen at the top, and bent at a slight but unnatural angle.

She hadn’t been insured back then, so going to the doctor’s waiting room was an option she passed on. She had iced her finger and splinted it with a splint she bought from the pharmacy, and taken ibuprofen. The finger healed, but it was never the same. Much to Lexa’s amusement, she had compared hands with a Police K9 officer once to discover that they both had the same crooked finger. Even more fascinating, the constable had coworkers with the same injury. It was one of the few occasions in Lexa’s life that she had felt one-alike with a cop. She picked up the pace, moving into a jog.

_Beware of horses  
I mean a horse is a horse of course, but who rides is important  
Sitting high with a uniform, barking orders, demanding order  
And I'm scared that I talk too much about what I think's going on  
I got a way with this, they might drag me away for this  
Put me in a cage for this, I might pay for this  
So I just say what I want like I'm made for this  
But I'm just afraid some days I might be wrong  
Maybe that's why me and Mike get along  
  
_

_Maybe that’s why she and Clarke got along._ Lexa expelled a steady breath of air, glancing to Titus. The dog beamed up at her, his tongue lolling from the side of his wide pitbull smile. Lexa allowed herself a smile as well. Pitbulls were excellent dogs because they had one of the largest smiles of any breed Lexa had met. They loved running, too. Sometimes, Lexa knew, they ran on slat mills, pacing, racing, getting nowhere. Sometimes, kind people put dogs on slat mills for good reasons, to help burn their energy and condition them. Sometimes, evil people put dogs on slat mills to make them run so they would fight better. Lexa liked to think that Titus and herself didn’t have to fight others, not anymore.

Even at work, at least since her incident in Oliver’s, she had been more diligent in attempting peace with those she encountered. Clarke was her resident expert in this department. Interpersonal skills: _Diplomacy_. She felt most comfortable saving up her questions to ask Clarke in confidence over lunch.

“A man makes eye contact with me and stares as he passes me when I am standing out on the plaza each morning,” she would explain to Clarke. “Why does he do that?”

Clarke would giggle as she worked at her lunch. “Lexa, I’m going to need more to go on than that…”

“He is a male, white, five-foot-four, thirty years old, with a pale complexion, brown hair— _What?!”_

“Lexa. Your break is almost up. Eat your lunch.”

“I want to know.”

“I _know_ you do,” Clarke empathized. _She thought this was cute_. That was what Lexa suspected.

“You think it’s cute.”

“Am I breaking a law on your property? Cause I could move across the yellow line and think you’re cute from over there…”

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.” She said it as seriously as she could.


	30. Therapy

Lexa's medical plan covered one therapy session per month fully. She went, mostly because it was free, secondly, because any observations would be eventually forwarded to her psychiatrist and be taken into account during her diagnosis, and thirdly, because the man had at least a modicum of credential and experience over her in the field. And, above all, because it made Gus look good for not firing her ass.

Up until this month, she had been on the fence as to whether it was a waste of her time or not. Half of that was probably because she lied to him, and she confessed she did it because she did not want him to feel as though he wasn’t succeeding at fixing her. If fixing her was what he was out to do, and she had a strong suspicion that was what was at hand. But sometimes, people could cooperate to achieve their own separate ends; that happened. She just needed the records from him. 

This month, she had something to report to him. She told him about the overdose. That seemed like it would be relevant information for the session. It was a break from talking about her obsessions and her social anxiety, which she had already researched extensively, and dealt with in her own way for the other twenty-nine (or thirty, or twenty-seven, or once every three years, twenty-eight) days of the month. 

He talked to her about grief, and encouraged her to feel things she had no literal clue how to even begin feeling yet. The therapy session was sixty minutes. Unless he was late, then it was shorter (and, thank god, not longer). 

“Maybe I will learn by putting the flowers,” she observed absently. “Maybe that is why he was meant to die so young. To change people.”

The therapist said this was extremely profound and that she was very intelligent, and quiet, and articulate, and sensitive, and many other things that had been noted in the comment section of her report card over the ten-year career of her education. Back then, the comments didn’t mean “neurodivergent”, they just meant intellectual giftedness. Whatever. 

In parting, he encouraged her to quit smoking, and to expand her comfort zone by taking Clarke to a restaurant other than Oliver’s. 

“I don’t think I will,” she told him frankly, to both suggestions, packing a completed toque into her knitting bag. She also had a hat to show for her her sixty minutes. She would give it, at Christmas time, to someone who probably didn’t get Christmas presents. 


	31. Shitshow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to work some more Clarke POV into this story and address her character a little more. Hope you guys find something relatable in her.

"What's Clarkey got today?" Raven was already poking at Clarke's lunch bag. "C'mon. Let's have the unboxing video so we can all tease you and be jealous," She joked. On Mondays, Lexa would pack Clarke lunch, assuming they had spent the weekend together. The brunette had reasoned that since she already packed her own lunch on Mondays, that the effort involved in packing a second lunch was extremely minimal. Clarke couldn't say she didn't enjoy the envy of her coworkers a bit-- What Lexa lacked in cooking skills, she made up for in the departments of cold foods, healthy snacks, and lunches. Today it was a carefully-wrapped sandwich with turkey, cranberry and spinach, a Tupperware of cubed cheese and pepperoni, another tub with assorted vegetables and dip, a container of some quinoa-based side-salad, and to top it off, two gluten-free cookies that honestly tasted like cardboard embedded with chocolate chips. 

Jasper and Murphy made little cooing noises as Raven set Clarke's lunch out for her. Octavia smirked, as did Bellamy. Finn was quiet. 

"It's a good spread," Raven appraised as she looked at the lunch she had unpacked for Clarke. "God, it's enough to make me want to switch teams. Jesus. Is it a lesbian thing? A security guard thing? A super-duper sweet, responsible girlfriend thing? Do we know, or care?!"

Laughing now, even as her cheeks glowed a bit, Clarke snatched the sandwich. "Raven. Leave me to eat this thing. In its entirety. Because if I don't... Lexa will interrogate me about it, and rearrange her menu. Fair?"

"Nothing about this is fair," Raven shot back, "God please, why can't I find myself a Lexa with a Y-chromosome?!"

Clarke rolled her eyes as she tucked into the sandwich. Lexa had thoughtfully made it with whole-grain bread, just so she would be spared the full misery of the brunette's fickle diet. Pulling out her phone, she checked her inbox. She had several replies to the questions she had asked on line about dating a person on the spectrum. The chatter of the group faded in volume as she flipped through the responses interestedly. 

"Clarke? Clarke! I asked a question," Octavia reminded her. Clarke started. 

"Sorry, what?"

"When do we get to _meet_ her? Like, find out if we can even recognize her out of that uniform?"

"Oh! Mmm," Clarke trailed off, her tone unsure, her shoulders hunching slightly in defense. "Well, you guys gotta give her time. She's really... shy."

"Shy." Jasper found this funny. "She sure wasn't when she explained my parking ticket to me."

"Well, just... I'll try her," Clarke promised them, moreso to keep her curious friends from hounding her on the topic than to actually make good on it. She could ask Lexa to hang out with the group rather than lying, she supposed, but she already knew that Lexa's response would likely be a flat 'no'. The guard didn't even spend much time with her own colleagues, outside of work. _“Work is my socialization.”_ She had asserted to Clarke. 

"Clarke, you're a sucker for the strong, silent type, you know that?" Finn smirked to her, standing to throw his Monster can into the garbage. 

"So shoot me."

* * *

Clarke finally felt okay to leave her office at a quarter to eight. She had accomplished enough, she felt; the work was never-ending in her position, but she had at least gotten herself to a point where she couldn't move forward until Niylah got in tomorrow morning and could print and collate all her drafts and markups. Pushing herself stiffly up from her chair, she expelled a long breath, collecting all of her essentials into her shoulder-bag before flicking the lights off and heading for the elevators. 

When she came down to the ground, she took the time to walk down the hall of elevators, poking her head into the lobby area to see if Lexa was working the desk. Spying the brunette lounging before the cameras, Clarke noted with a little concern that Lexa looked quite tired. Nonetheless, the green eyes flicked from the Clarke on the CCTV to the Clarke standing across the lobby, and brightened in recognition. Clarke blew a discreet kiss to Lexa. It was all the guard was comfortable with, while working. Lexa was a stickler for the laws of professionalism, and had once given Clarke an in-depth discussion, followed up by a point-form summary over text, of PDAs she felt comfortable with while within the Yellow Line and while wearing her company's logo. Clarke warmed inside when the older woman returned a secretive, but affectionate smile. Lexa's wide, green eyes did ninety percent of the smiling.

"Goodnight, Clarke."

"Night, Lex."

Headed for the parkade elevators, Clarke hopped in one and punched a floor, suddenly anxious to get into her car and take her weight off her Steve Madden heels. They were cute and reasonably priced, but hell to wear for even a moderate length of time. Exiting the elevator and vestibule, Clarke began delving into her shoulderbag as she approached her car, plumbing its depths for something that felt like her keys. Struggling and digging, her fingers searched out lip gloss, a mirror, tampons, a Tupperware container from her lunch, a granola bar, a pack of tissues... She had to set her bag onto the hood of the car and open it wide before continuing her search, impatiently shifting the contents of the bag all around as she sought out her keys. She checked the front and side pockets of the bag with increasing anxiety. More tissues, a Werther's, mascara... In the other one, clear nail polish, hand cream... _This couldn't be happening._

Dread cooling in her belly, Clarke peered into her passenger window and there she spied them, her keys, still sitting in the ignition of her car. 

_FUCK._

Clarke's hand reached up to push her blonde curls from her face and she blew out a long breath, attempting to cool her reddening cheeks. She felt like an idiot. Her car could have been stolen. All they had to do was smash the window and flip the ignition. Her car and everything inside it, gone. _The car her dad had helped her shop for and buy._ Even worse, Lexa had suggested she park under a camera, so security could keep an eye on her car. What if Lexa had gotten hurt trying to protect her car? Or any of the security guards, for that matter? 

_What should she do?_

Clarke's hand went instinctually for her phone, scrolling the contacts aimlessly as her panic level rose. She found the contact in her phone. _Dad._ She couldn't handle this alone. She supposed she should call a towing company, but that would be expensive... Would they see her, a female, a blonde, and try to screw her over? She just wanted her dad. Should she call her mom? Mom would have no idea how to handle this stuff and would probably try to pay the towing company out of her own pocket. Lexa? Didn't drive. Knew little-to-nothing about cars. Bellamy? Was exhausted, and she felt bad bothering him. She just wanted her dad. 

_She just wanted her dad._

Shakily, tears stinging her eyes, Clarke scrolled her voicemails til she found the message. Pressing play, she lifted it to her ear. 

"Hey pumpkin, looks like I didn't quite catch you in time, but I just wanted to drop a line... hope you're having a good day... Oh! Your mom is waving at me. I think she means business.. Business as usual... Love you, Clarke. Bye."

There was nobody around to witness it, except perhaps the security guards, so Clarke sagged against the passenger window, sobbing loudly. 

* * *

Lexa swiveled absently in the chair as she watched the CCTV, her long legs relaxed before her, her arms resting comfortably on the armrests, her thumb absently rolling the little silver ball near the top of her Tactical Pen. The Tactical Pen was actually just a fidget pen, which came in a subtle grey and black design. For Lexa, who would not even consider the idea of doing her job while carrying a toy around-- It was unprofessional-- The Tactical Pen was her weapon of choice against her own overactive mind during the times where the office building was all quiet. 

The Tactical Pen was something she kept in good supply; she ordered them from Amazon and kept one in her breast pocket, one at her writing desk at home, one spare in her backpack, and an extra in her backpack to give to any new recruits that might turn up at the site for a training shift, or a floater shift. Lexa's Tactical Pen had no nib or ink, because she didn't write in the cheap standard blue ballpoint ink. She preferred black gel, 0.5 mm, which was where her writing pen came into play. 

It took Lexa a while to become aware of how much she puzzled new trainees by presenting them with an inkless pen. Taking into account the suggestions of her coworkers that leaving the ink in the pen would make it a handy implement for doing crosswords or sudoku, she had switched to giving trainees the entire pen-- not without a speech on why they should never write their patrol notes in any ink color other than black. 

Clarke was at her car. It was 2003. Lexa clucked to herself. SkyCrew offices closed at 1730, but Clarke could be found more often than not staying late at the office, to get what work she could not take home done. Lexa blinked in realization. Clarke was so much like her. The difference was that Lexa worked shifts and was relieved of her duty at a set time by a patroller she trusted to do the job right. Clarke had no co-worker to switch off with. Her job seemed difficult to Lexa. If she was to get any relief from the demands of her job, Lexa supposed Clarke would have to delegate work to others. Lexa shrugged in spite of herself. Clarke was her own girl doing her own thing, and she was an extremely capable woman, even if she chased perfection doggedly.

Lexa straightened with a jolt and leaned in, zooming the camera. _Where had she been? Up in her own head._ Now Clarke stood leaned against the driver's side of her car, arm thrown up against the drivers' side window, head sheltered beneath it, her feminine shoulders wracked with heavy sobs. Lexa's heart cracked a bit for the blonde. She radioed for Miller to take over desk duty. She left the chair spinning. 

* * *

"Clarke."

Clarke whirled around, startled, instantly regretting that Lexa should see her like this, her face stained with tears and her eyes reddened and puffy, watery tracks of mascara creeping down the tops of her cheeks. Yet Lexa strode swiftly toward her, opening her arms up as she approached in an invitation. Clarke accepted. 

"Clarke... Clarke... Clarke..." Lexa murmured in a low, soothing tone, her head leaned up against the blonde's. "You'll be okay... You'll be okay... Be okay... Be okay... Be okay... Be okay..." A strong hand rubbed her back, square between her trenbling shoulders. Clarke sank harder into Lexa's embrace. Cried harder. The more Lexa soothed her, the harder she cried. For how long, she lost track. She cried and she sobbed until every last teardrop had been wrought from her. 

Lexa swayed her imperceptibly; stroked her hair. She smelled faintly of lavender and sandalwood and vanilla. 

"Five things you can see."

Clarke extricated herself for a moment from Lexa's damp, now mascara-stained shirt. "I... uh... Your shirt is stained," she noticed, hearing Lexa's gentle, dismissive huff. "Um... Your pin. It says T3. And... A napkin on the ground... Um, the yellow lines..."

"Four things you can hear."

'Your voice... my voice... ummm... a fan of some sort... and a squeaking sound?"

"Golden. What do you smell?"

"I smell... calm... Like lavender or something on you..."

"Be okay. Be okay, Clarke." Lexa was pulling her in for another tight hug. "Clarke, what happened? Are you locked out?"

"Yeah... I feel like such a shitshow... Sorry you had to see this, I was just having--"

"Shh. Don't apologize."

"I just--"

"We'll go back upstairs and call Brad's Towing, okay?"

Clarke balked at the idea. "Lexa, I don't have that kind of--"

"Shh. Don't worry about the money."

"Lexa, no. No no no no. I can take care of it."

Lexa drew back from her with a gently amused expression. "Will you hear me out, Clarke?"

"Mmm," Clarke hummed, troubled. Lexa had no qualms with cutting her short. 

"Clarke. How much do you think Brad makes in a day towing the cars I call in for him?"

"I don't know?"

"Brad will come and unlock your car. You won't have to pay. I won't have to pay."

"Okayyy, but--"

"Clarke. Let's go upstairs. It will be okay."


	32. Out of Office

They rode the elevator up, and Clarke could sense the conflict in Lexa as she dutifully kept her hands in her pocket rather than tangled up in the artist’s fingers. She would have liked that, but she knew the brunette was striving to hedge good professional boundaries in their relationship.

“So,” Lexa broke the silence as they exited the elevator and headed into the lobby. “Would you like to sit tight on the benches?” She invited Clarke with a wave toward the pleather-lined chaises that decorated the perimeter of the lobby. She leaned over Miller as she grabbed for a phone and punched a direct line.

Clutching her bag, Clarke went over to the benches to have a seat and pull out her own phone, shooting a quick text to her mom explaining her absence. Her mom worried more about this sort of thing since Dad had passed away. Clarke understood. It just made it hard, now that she had a life and a girlfriend, to keep her mom calm when she didn’t always arrive home on time.

“Clarke.” The voice shook her from her reverie. Lexa was standing square in front of her, her hands resting disarmingly in her pockets. “Brad will be here in under five. He’s just coming off a break. You should be into your car in the next fifteen minutes…”

Clarke looked wearily and gratefully to Lexa as she blew out a long sigh of relief. Lexa nodded empathetically. She got it.

“My question is… Do you think it’s wise to drive? Do you feel safe doing so?”

The blonde’s mouth hung open a bit as her gaze drifted. Oh shit. Probably not. She drew a breath in, holding it as she worked possibilities around. Was it intrusive to spend the night at Lexa’s place? Would it upset her schedule, or—

“Clarke,” Lexa cut in gently. “I mean this in the best of ways, but you look like you just went to… Vietnam… or some place… I don’t know…” She offered a smile. “I can’t tell you what to do. But you know that you would be more than welcome to get your stuff out of the car and come back to my place.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to—“

“Yes. Stop asking obvious questions.”

“I could let myself in and wait til you are off work…”

“Mmm. Let’s just— Oh,” Lexa exclaimed softly, pulling her work phone from her belt. “Brad’s here. He’s going to start unlocking it.”

“Do we go?”

“Yes. Let’s.”

They headed for the elevator hall. Before Clarke could hit a call button, Lexa raised a hand to pause her, and slipped through the door at the back of the hall that led to the back of house. When she came out into the hallway, she was in her shirtsleeves, lunch kit swinging in her hand, and had on her backpack.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re— Lex! I didn’t mean that you had to drop everything and come home with me—“

Lexa cut her off with a raised hand. “I don’t have to. I want to. Gus cut me loose.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get in trouble because—“

“Clarke.” Lexa motioned to a waiting cab and they both slipped inside. Lexa punched P6. “It’s okay.”

Helplessly, Clarke lapsed into silence. She still felt anxious that Lexa was neglecting her job to take care of her.

“Do you know why it’s okay, Clarke?” Lexa inquired after a bit of silence.

“Why?”

“Because,” Lexa took in a breath, composing her thoughts. “It’s okay with everyone, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because if I care for the people in the building, I will protect it better.”

“Are you sure? Because—“

“Clarke. That’s why they give the guards free parking. They watch the parkade better if their own cars are parked there.”

“Did you just compare me to a car?”

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice took an amused tone. “I just— calm down. They get it. So long as I behave myself and do my job, it’s more than okay that I have something I—,” She stalled. “I’ll work harder at my job because I value you,” she finished tacitly.

“Kinda makes sense,” Clarke said unsurely.

Lexa lifted a shoulder. They exited the elevator. “It’s really not rocket science,” she explained casually. “We’re the junkyard dogs. Let us bond with those we protect… keep what we value here… We will take our jobs more seriously.”

“When are you going for a promotion, Lexa?” Clarke was smiling genuinely.

“Never ever. I can’t sit in an office chair for longer than 45 minutes, approximately, and I need to take toys to work.”

That earned Lexa a little shove from Clarke.

____________________

Clarke groaned in relief as they pushed into Lexa’s apartment, driving Titus positively wild. It was almost as though when they both arrived home at the same time, Titus’ happiness exceeded levels he could comprehend and he just thrashed around, moaning and thumping his head and his tail against their knees.

“Titus. TITUS. Get ahold of yourself,” Lexa barked to the dog, hanging her pack and passing her lunch kit off to Clarke as the blonde rid herself of the evil shoes she had scarcely been able to soldier home in. Lexa clipped a leash onto Titus to take him for a bathroom break as Clarke made her way further into the apartment. The blonde threw her stuff on the couch, going immediately for a change of clothes in the bedroom. Picking out a shirt of Lexa’s and a pair of shorts that fit her, she headed back for the couch, opening Netflix on the TV.

Titus popped up on the couch beside her, turning several times before collapsing halfway into her lap, as though he sensed that his weight would be appreciated right there. Clarke’s fingers found the beast’s velvety head and stroked his ears, soothing them both, as she found a show to watch. Lexa appeared in the living room in some shorts and a cutoff t-shirt with a cartoon of a dog with little sunglasses sitting beside a piano. It was captioned, When Dogs Cry.

“I will wander through the wilderness in the skin of a lion,” she murmured, regarding Clarke with a small smile.

“What?”

“It’s a quote from this book… about another book... called the Epic of Gilgamesh… nevermind,” Lexa laughed bashfully, a hand reaching up to finger the back of her braid.

“And here, you’re always telling me you can’t read fiction,” Clarke came back, perplex.

Lexa eyed her triumphantly, pursing her lips, attempting to disguise her smirk. “Clarke, I have to retain my mystery,” she explained. The blue eyes rolled ceiling-ward.

“Get over here.”

The brunette wandered over to retrieve her Switch from the console before going to the couch and wedging herself between Clarke and the arm of the couch, sagging comfortably when Clarke rested her weight on top of her.

“Dog pile,” Lexa observed, reaching a long arm around Clarke and pressing the home button, so that she could play her game with her arms wound around Clarke. They settled as the blonde scrolled through the options, deciding on The Office. The show could brighten any mood she could possibly have, and it had always been that way. Lexa ran around on her island, and Clarke grinned when she would shake occasionally with a muted giggle at something Michael Scott would say.


	33. Are You Still Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys... Just. Sorry about the cliffhanger but I need to get to bed and, well, it's all Irishwhiskey's fault. so stay tuned and try not to freak out.

Clarke relaxed fully into Lexa’s torso, the couch, Titus’ body snugged at her side, and The Office. Clarke relaxed, and they watched The Office, until Netflix presented them with a simple yes-or-no question: _“Are you still watching The Office?”_

Her head tilted up for Lexa’s input. The brunette seemed caught off guard by the prompt, for she was frowning, gazing off and to the left, which was the spot she most preferred to search when she was lost in thought. _Oh dear. Oh god, she was adorable._ Clarke imagined, with a smirk, all sorts of questions— some philosophical, some psychological, some sociological, some artistic, some theological… whirling about in Lexa’s mind.

“Lex,” She whispered, starting out as quietly as she could. No response.

“Lex,” She tried again at speaking volume. Radio silence on Lexa’s end.

“LEX. _Lexa.”_ She giggled as she felt a start beneath her. Lexa glanced to her, still looking, for no better word, shocked.

“Are we still watching,” Lexa wanted to know, immediately. Clarke pulled out her phone. It was midnight, which was extremely close to both of their normal bedtimes. Lexa pursed her lips as she noted this, over Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke sighed. _Should she?_

“Lex, should I call in sick tomorrow?”

Lexa sucked her teeth. “Do you feel sick?”

“Well… no… Oh god, sorry, you know I would totally tell you if I was, and stay away from you, if you were afraid of getting a cold from me or something, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, just checking.”

“Do you feel sick, Clarke, like you would be sick when you woke up to go to work tomorrow?”

“Well… Mmm,” Clarke prevaricated anxiously.

“Clarke, if you want my opinion— and never, please, confuse that with my permission… You seem si— you seem like you could use a day off, to me,” Lexa ventured carefully. “You’ve been through a lot. Clearly. I think it would be good.”

Clarke bit her lip, drawing an indecisive breath. She was not ready to agree quite yet. Lexa continued tempting her with the idea.

“Clarke, I also think… that if you take a sick day, that your bosses will see that you’re capable of self-care.” _That idea sounded a lot more appealing._ Clarke chewed her lip, still.

“And also, if they will think less of you because you take care of yourself, that they should—“

“I get it, I get it Lexa, I get what you’re saying,” Clarke cried with amusement. “I don’t need the visual. Jesus.” She felt Lexa shrug defensively beneath her. “Okay, okay. You have me convinced… Can I sleep over?”

“Of course. You have everything you need for tonight here. We could go and pick up your car tomorrow…”

“Deal.”

“I don’t work until 1500. Let’s stay up late.”

Clarke relaxed back, nodding her assent. Lexa kissed the top of her head and reached one arm tighter around Clarke. The other long, inky arm went for the remote, submitting their answer to Netflix. Her Animal Crossing lay forgotten on the side table. Clarke even caught Lexa furtively watching the show, though _“She hated TV, and what is ‘Netflix and chill’ even supposed to mean? Why do girls say that when they are actually saying they want to have intercourse?”_

_“Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. Both. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me._ ” Michael Scott told the camera at one point. Lexa was busting up underneath her. Clarke elbowed her relentlessly, beginning to lose it a little with the woman.

“It’s true,” Lexa crowed, either defending her emotions, excited about the quote, or both. “It needs to be in my Quotes section! Clarke, get off, I need to write it!!!”

Clarke flopped harder onto Lexa, making herself a dead weight.

“Off! Everyone off. Clarke, Titus, off,” Lexa began to command them between peals of laughter. “Let me up! I need to write it; its true!”

“You don’t need to do that with everything you see on TV,” Clarke taunted her, now draped stubbornly over the squirming woman.

“With this thing, I do!!! Clarke, you don’t understand the significance,” Lexa calmed down to accuse her.

“And what would make you think that,” Clarke countered gamely.

“Clarke. _Clarke._ Besides the obvious, here’s some more obvious. I love people. I love scaring them. I love scaring people, it’s just—“ She was cut off as Clarke began jabbing her ribs some more with her fingers, the way she had been taught to move large horses when she took riding lessons as a teenager. Lexa thrashed.

“Where did you learn how to do this,” Lexa cried woefully as Clarke laid a Jiu-Jitsu move on her. “You’re overpowering me!”

They grappled. At last, Lexa struggled up and out from under Clarke, rushing for a pen. Clarke sprang up behind her, catching her behind the waist and leaning back. Titus was hot on their heels, bouncing and barking. They were all three of them laughing loudly, waking up the neighbours, but they just didn’t give a fuck.

Lexa dragged Clarke (she was barefoot; Clarke had on her nylons) across the smooth kitchen floor to the writing desk to grasp her pen. When she tried to put it to the paper of her open journal, Clarke jarred her tauntingly.

“Clarke Griffin, they say the pen is mightier than the sword and so help me I will stab you if you keep—“ Clarke cut her off, making the breakaway and dashing back to the couch. Titus jumped about, on and off the couch, working himself up into a frenzy.

“No. Nuh-uh,” Lexa admonished Clarke. “Come up here and fight me like a _woman_ , since you’ve apparently been able to do it all along…”

Clarke shrank into the couch for protection. She was almost hyperventilating with laughter. Lexa occasionally did this to her.

“Well fine then, fuck it.” Lexa turned her back and retreated slowly toward the writing desk with her pen. Titus stamped his feet and barked. Someone was banging on the wall. Or the ceiling. Or the floor. Titus went to his Kong, which still had some soft, smelly treats inside it along with some frozen and now thawed dog food.

Clarke made her strike only when she knew Lexa had fully let her guard down. Pushing off the couch, she lunged past Titus for the retreating woman.

Lexa whirled around, blocking. Clarke was stunned. Lexa was stunned. Their gazes both dropped to Titus, who had his teeth sank firmly into Lexa’s forearm. Milliseconds dragged by. She heard old her ears ringing, and Lexa breathing. She looked so shocked. Lexa looked so shocked.

“Clarke. Back slowly away from me,” Came a low, calm voice. “Back slowly away, Clarke.”

She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave Lexa. Like this. She listened to the voice. She took every pain to back as slowly and as calmly away from Lexa, toward the couch.

“Clarke, I want you to shut yourself in the bathroom.”

“No!”

“Clarke. I can’t raise my voice right now, so I am telling you calmly, you need to remove yourself and shut yourself in the goddamn bathroom. You don’t feel like listening? I don’t give a fuck. Shut yourself in the bathroom and you can figure it out with god in there while I figure it out with god, myself, and Titus over here.”

Clarke felt as though she had been slapped. Lexa had never, ever, ever spoken to her in a way even close to this before. Lexa’s wide green gaze honed in on her stricken blue one. Tears welled in Clarke’s eyes again.

“Clarke. I love you. Go.”

In a daze, Clarke went to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind her, she flattened herself to it.

“Titus. Aus,” She heard Lexa say calmly. “ _Aus._ ”

Clarke held her breath. _Could Lexa get the dog to let go?!_

“ _AUS!!!!!”_

The authoritative roar came from the kitchen. Everything stilled. For how long, Clarke couldn’t count the seconds. They evaded her.

She heard Lexa’s movement. And someone was knocking impatiently on the front door. Clarke cracked the bathroom door open, helpless to do anything but watch. She spied Lexa. Titus was still clamped quietly onto her arm.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lexa muttered to the knocking, as quietly as she could. She went to the rack by the door, where she kept her night stick, and she jammed the thing into the corner of Titus’ jaw, slowly, gently prising it up against the roof of Titus’ mouth. The dog released her. Clarke could breathe again.

Now, Titus stood anxiously before Lexa, head ducked, body cowed, looking for all the world like he knew; he truly knew that he had made a terrible mistake. Lexa pointed to the bedroom.

“Titus. Go.”

The dog crouched to the ground, crawling toward her, tail wiggling appeasinlgly, ears flattened against his powerful head; the head that had done so much damage to Lexa mere seconds ago. There were perfect holes in Lexa’s arm. It stunned Clarke, how perfectly the holes marred her tanned, graceful, tattooed forearm. The smell of piss rose into the air. Titus had vacated his bladder on the front hall runner.

“Titus. Get up. I love you. Go,” Lexa spoke again to the animal. Quivering, her rose, and went into the bedroom. Lexa shut the door quietly behind him. Inhaling, she turned her eyes toward Clarke. Nothing need be said.


	34. Dog Whisperer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good job everyone for sitting tight. I couldn't lol. Not with you guys losing your minds over there.
> 
> I will be taking a little break from this series after a couple of very adrenaline-inducing, emotional chapters to work on my smaller more light-hearted collections I don't have to tell you where to look, they're on my Works page. Let's all enjoy a nice break, guys, before getting back to the really hardcore stuff.

At length, Lexa broke eye contact, raised her palms to her mouth and blew a slow sigh into them. Pushing her hands up into her hair, she sighed again, pacing the front hall like a confined animal. Clarke wasn’t sure if she should approach. She slowly crept out of the bathroom.

“ _Compose… compose_ ,” Lexa spoke meditatively as she paced and pushed her fingers through her hair. Clarke reached out tentatively to touch her. The brunette evaded it deftly, striding further into her home. “ _Compose… compose… compose_ ,” she intoned as she paced. Clarke recognized the word. It was written on the inside of Lexa’s right forearm. Again, she followed, hanging back anxiously for a few moments, letting Lexa do her pacing and muttering before going in and reaching out again for Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa shook her hand off irately. It made Clarke feel helpless and stupid. Clarke didn’t know how to help. Lexa knew what to do. Casting about, Clarke saw her eyes light on her phone. She went over to the couch and snatched it up. “Clarke, I have to go outside,” she decided slowly. “Please stay here. Do not open the bedroom door,” she looked meaningfully to Clarke, making sure this request was understood. “It’s okay. I have to go. I’ll be back.”

Dumbly, Clarke nodded. Lexa closed her mouth, nodding, before retrieving her keys, smokes, lighter and shoes before letting herself out of the apartment. Helpless but to watch, Clarke went to the sliding doors of the patio, where several moments later, she could spy Lexa on the front lawn of the apartment, storming back and forth, muttering. When she spoke compose, her hand would drop to her side, fingers outstretched, motioning as though she was staying something; pushing it back and down. Running a hand through her hair and pausing, Lexa lit a cigarette, and withdrew her phone from her pocket.

It was eleven forty-five already.

Lexa’s shoulders heaved and sagged as she took a long drag from her cigarette, waiting for Anya to pick up. Clarke chewed her lip, regarding anxiously. She felt pained for Lexa; to see her go through this with as much stoicism as she could muster. This was as close to a nervous wreck as Clarke had seen Lexa, and perhaps that frightened her. Even more than the beast confined to the bedroom. And then, there was Lexa’s injury. Clarke could see dark blood oozing slowly from the holes. In the moonlight, it looked black.

Furtively, Clarke watched Lexa chainsmoke, fidget with her keys and talk. Sometimes a hand would fly anxiously to her head, or outwards in exclamation. At times, the commander’s face would wring up, fit to crumple into tears, and Lexa’s shoulders would go limp and she would clap a hand about her mouth as though to stem a tide of anguish. Steadily, she began to calm down and straighten, pacing with more purpose. After a long while, Clarke saw Lexa turn to go back inside. Clarke would be at the door waiting for her.

When the key turned in the door and it swung open, Lexa was in the doorway, opening her arms to Clarke. The blonde advanced, throwing her arms around Lexa at last. She had wanted to do this for far too long now. They hugged and rocked. For either moments or hours. Lexa’s blood darkened the back of Clarke’s cute green top. It was garbage, now. Clarke didn’t care. To speak, Lexa pushed her away with a sigh.

“Clarke, we need to rest.”

“Lexa, we need to get that looked at.”

“We’re looking at it right now,” Lexa responded, guarding her arm warily from Clarke.

“At a hospital.”

“No.” The words were ice.

“Lexa!”

“We do not. Go. To the hospital.” Lexa pursed her lips fixing Clarke with a wild look that said _‘I know I look crazy, but I’m praying to god you believe me.’_ Clarke took a steadying breath.

“Well, what did Anya tell you,” Clarke wanted to know. She and Anya both had Lexa’s very best interests at heart; surely she had an ally in the voice on the phone.

“Soak it in salt water.”

“What?! Lexa.” Clarke came from a family of doctors. They needed to get to the hospital.

“Clarke, just please. Let me do this,” Lexa was already going to the sink, running hot water and grabbing a bowl, salt and a tea towel.

“This is really irresponsible on so many le—“

“Clarke.”

“What?”

“Anya is a trainer. Of dogs. K-9s. Okay? I’m certified to give emergency first aid. I have treated puncture injuries in others. Forgive me in taking our advice over yours. We can re-assess tomorrow morning.”

Clarke blew a frustrated sigh. “Okay, but what could it hurt—“

“What could it hurt,” Lexa inquired calmly as she mixed salt in with the water and dunked the towel in, bringing the whole deal over to the couch. “You wonder how it could hurt to go to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

Lexa swallowed. “I’m phobic of hospitals, for starters,” she began, “But phobia means ‘irrational fear’. I don’t feel that my fear is irrational right now.” She sniffed, wringing out the towel, wincing as she dabbed at the drying blood. A great, purple bruise was already spreading from the holes. “Clarke, I get that you said your mom is a doctor… I’m scared, okay? Just let me be.” She sighed defeatedly as Clarke sat beside her, relinquishing the soaked towel without a fight. This made Clarke feel better. She couldn’t see Lexa injured and simply do nothing.

“I can get that Lex, but—“

“If we go to the hospital tonight, where, pardon my language, I will go full-on retarded and probably get myself psyched, they have to report the bite, Clarke. That’s their duty.”

Clarke swallowed in defeat, ceding Lexa’s point.

“Clarke, you understand that Titus could die from biting humans, right? Like if the law deems him dangerous enough, he will be seized by animal control officers on a catch pole, they will remove him from the only place he feels safe, they will take him to animal control, without me—“

“Lexa, stop,” Clarke had to cut in. “You’re working yourself up.” She knew Lexa knew she was. Right.

“I just… Him being a dangerous dog. Him dying alone. Worst nightmare.”

“I get it. Shhh…”

Lexa bravely inhaled. “ _Compose_ ,” she murmured.

Cleaning the other side of Lexa’s purpling forearm, Clarke examined the wounds with a frown.

“How are you so calm,” She had to ask. “How are you… meditating…?”

Lexa spoke slowly, phrasing carefully. “I need to rest,” she started “Well… Clarke, I’ll try to explain what you saw. I go into shock easily. I process pain slowly. That’s how I can do it, Clarke, that’s how I can have a pitbull hanging off my arm and be calm. The pain and fear is on… like… delayed release. Believe me when I say, I’m fully aware of how much this will hurt in the morning. She grimaced to Clarke. The bowl of water was pink.

“I’m gonna change this. Stay put, Lex,” Clarke instructed her with a reassuring rub of her shoulder. Lexa ground the heel of her palm into her eye and sighed tiredly, but she nodded. Clarke fetched a fresh bowl of saltwater.

“There’s a huge first aid kit under the bathroom sink,” Lexa called after her. “It has gauze. Tegaderm. Steri-strips. Tape.”

Clarke brightened. She went right away to the bathroom and found it under the sink, and took it back to the couch with the bowl of saltwater. Setting everything on the coffee table, she continued her course of care for Lexa. With her free arm, Lexa collected up the discarded packages and peelings from the dressings to be put into the garbage. Clarke cleaned and dressed Lexa's wound. It was something she did well, that she had learned from the strong women in her family. It made her feel better.

“I want to go for a smoke,” Lexa said as soon as the wound was dressed. “Come, Clarke.” They headed for the patio. “I always keep fire in my pocket,” Lexa counselled Clarke, a little out-of-it. “Anyways.” She took a drag and blew a sigh. They each took a seat at the little bistro table. “What time is it?” Clarke pulled out her phone.

“It’s like twelve thirty, Lex.”

“Shit,” Lexa sighed as soon as she had converted into twenty-four hour time. “We need to rest up.”

“Titus is still in the bedroom,” Clarke realized.

“He needs to rest up, too.” Lexa decided this as she killed her cigarette.

“Clarke. Can you go in the bathroom again, and can you get my meds? The prescriptions in the medicine cabinet. I’m late. I should have taken them at 23:30.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll deal with Titus. He needs to go back on his routine, too.”

“You’re sure,” Clarke queried, the anxiety creeping back into her voice.

“Clarke,” Lexa sighed. “I know what I’m doing. So does he. I need you to shut yourself in the bathroom again and just… trust us. And your higher power, if it makes you feel better.”

“You know I hate this.”

“I know you do,” Lexa came back reassuringly, taking Clarke into a brief bear-hug. “Only for a little while. I’m going to take him outside for a potty break. Can you throw the rug in the wash? While we’re out?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll muzzle him, before I do anything else” Lexa reassured her. And they parted ways. Clarke took the front runner up and rinsed it in the laundry tub, before throwing it in the washer for tomorrow. She went into the bathroom to get Lexa’s prescription, finding it easily and slipping it into her pocket. Going to the bedroom, she noticed Titus’ crate. He couldn’t sleep here tonight. Clarke dragged the crate out and found a nice, quiet spot for it in the living room, next to Titus’ favourite napping spot on the couch.

She went to the sliding doors again, anxiously. Lexa was out on the lawn with Titus, walking in circles and murmuring. She was doing the _compose_ thing. To either herself, Titus or perhaps both of them. Clarke had to blinked try to believe what she was seeing. She had seen the show Dog Whisperer on National Geographic; Lexa hated that show. Clarke had believed that dog whisperers were fake, once Lexa had pointed out to her how to read dog body language.

Lexa wandered with the dog, stilling and calming him with her words and her hand. He trailed placidly behind her on the leash. He seemed neither guilty, nor angry, nor even upset that he was muzzled. He was just being regular Titus, following Lexa. He drifted to a bush and cocked his leg, marking it. Lexa produced from her pocket a cookie, feeding it praisingly to the dog through the metal grille that caged his mouth in.

“Good boyyy,” She head Lexa sing lowly. They turned come back inside. Clarke was sick of hiding in the bathroom, she felt, so she went to the bedroom and shut the door. She heard the front door open, and Lexa murmuring, and dog toenails on the laminate floor.

“I’m safe,” Clarke called from the bedroom before Lexa could begin to worry.

“Good. Hang in there,” Came Lexa’s voice. She heard Lexa go to the living room; she heard the creak of the door to Titus’ crate swinging open, and she heard Lexa say, “Good boy,” once more to Titus as the cage door creaked shut and locked in place. Clarke could even hear Titus crunching away at his bedtime cookie.

The bedroom door opened, startling her a bit.

“It’s okay,” Lexa murmured, enveloping her again in a hug, which she accepted with gratitude. “We need to rest.”

“I have your meds,” Clarke offered when she was done hugging, reaching into her pocket for the small bottle of tablets to be taken, one, each night at bedtime. Lexa accepted them, twisting off the lid and taking a single one before shutting the lid and putting the bottle on a convenient ledge.

“Okay,” Lexa said with a yawn, reaching up to take out her braid and shake it loose, combing her fingers absently through her hair. She undressed. Clarke followed suit. They crawled into their spots on the bed, with Lexa sleeping closest to the door tonight. “Do you want me to say my words for us?” Lexa asked of Clarke.

“Mhm,” Clarke could only nod against Lexa’s chest.

“Okay.”

With Titus now whispered and safe in his crate, Lexa licked her lips and inhaled softly, whispering the two of them to sleep.


	35. High Functioning

Lexa was moody, after Clarke left to go back to her mother's house. They had both decided it was fairest to Titus that Clarke go away for the day, which left Lexa alone with her feelings, and moody. This would be a lot to process. The guard already felt hung over from the tumult the night before: her tinnitus acted up, the lights were too bright, she didn't feel like eating or resting; she would forget anything that wasn't physically attached to her; she could practically get lost in her own apartment in this sort of state. She would have to pay extra care to remembering to drink her shakes, brush her teeth, exercise when she needed it, and shower. Lexa had taken the day off work, as well. She only felt like listening to her music, working out in her home and being alone with Titus. She had retreated to the comfort of her routine, her most comfortable clothes; some polar fleece shorts, a sports bra, and her shirt that said, _Sorry, I Will Only Be Talking To My Dog Today_. And she fully intended on following through with that. 

When she took Titus outside, muzzled up, for his mid-morning potty break, and her cigarette break it only became worse. There was Aden's mother, anxiously unloading groceries and toiletries to and from the lobby of the apartment, pulling out her phone, making call after unanswered call upstairs. At length, Aden came out to sullenly accept the supply drop. His eyes flicked to Lexa. She regarded him through her aviators, her ears were ringing loudly. She wasn't in the mood to fake a smile in return. 

When Aden took some laundered sheets inside, leaving his mother to fret outside, the tinnitus became intolerable. Lexa knew what was going on. She didn't have the time or energy for this, she just wanted to make the ringing stop. She had to say something. This lady was giving her anxiety by osmosis, as though she didn't have her own shit to deal with. Lexa grumbled to herself, slowly approaching the worried mother. Titus stayed close. 

“You worry for him. It’s okay. But don’t do it too much."

The tired gaze found hers, behind the black lenses of her sunglasses. 

"Oh, are you a neighbor of Aden's?" The woman inquired in a hopeful but quavering voice. 

"I would consider him a friend," Lexa explained without hesitation, or a smile.

"He's, going through some medical things... Functional things, he has Asperger's, actually,” the woman shared with her, for some reason or other. 

Lexa paced, nodding, listening. When the woman stopped speaking, she exhaled her smoke to the side, sighing. Looking her in the eyes, Lexa raised her aviators to rest them on the top of her head, so she could do it even better. 

“We’re autistic, but we will be okay. He will be okay...” Lexa sighed again, raising a hand gesticulatively for the next part, so she could say it better. “We’re ‘high functioning’. It says that in the name.”

Nodding, she returned her aviators to the bridge to her nose, and reached down to stub out her cigarette before turning on her heel and wandering quietly back inside, field-stripping the butt idly. 


	36. 1930

It was 1530, and Lexa was off for her decaf and her donut, when it happened. She had been minding her own business, waiting for the white man to say 'go' at the no-walk signal at Tondc and 4th street. The cyclist beside her; a tall fellow, a white male with an expensive-looking bike and a tighter-looking suit turned to her, beleaguered, showing her the pouch on his bike frame that had been emptied of its contents. His keys stolen. They could be cut. His access card stolen. It could be cancelled and re-issued, wherever he worked. He was still standing, and he still had his $8000 bike, as Lexa saw it.

"These people," he muttered, glancing off to the beggars stationed up the edge of the sidewalk, "They're no good."

Lexa had to disagree. She literally couldn't not.

"They steal stuff," she asserted, feeling a bit defensive. "They're trying to survive."

"No, I know them," the man said, to further his point, and that just made it worse. "I know a couple of them, and they're just no good! No good, believe me!"

"I don't." Lexa started in. Today was not the day for this. She had been up several times the night before, she had forgotten to eat up until now; she worried for Titus and Clarke and whether anyone could understand the weight she carried on her shoulders today. She worried about making it through her shift and up until 2345, which was when she called Anya. She just couldn't, with this man. He was beginning to open his mouth again to explain. "They're crows," Lexa lectured him. "They're homeless; they're addicts, they're just trying to survive. Looks like they can deal with surviving better than _you_."

The man was speechless. It was fortunate that she wasn't wearing any company logos. The white man said 'go'. Her mouth pursed bitterly, Lexa put on her aviators and headphones, walking faster to the coffee shop. The cyclist pedaled past her, muttering to himself. She tracked his movements warily, prepared to come running if he so much as stopped to speak to the panhandlers. He kept pedaling. Just as he should.

By the time Lexa had gotten herself to the coffee shop, she was fuming, but she knew what to do. Seeing her exhausted, her server, the new one, was smiling kindly, and pouring her decaf. Lexa made no effort to show it with her face, but she liked that.

"How your day goes?" The lady asked her in her best attempt at English. Lexa had to choose the right words, to communicate with her.

"Hard but good," she grunted.

"Ah, good, you see?! Still coffee!"

"Yup. Could I get six donuts too," Lexa added to her order, explaining as best she could. "Six donuts, with papers," she gestured here, "To give to others?"

It took a couple more tries on both their parts, but the lady understood her and presented her with her extra-large decaf, and six donuts, all boxed up, with a waxed sheet wrapped around each of them. Perfect. Lexa presented her with her loyalty card, and then her debit card.

"Have a good shift," she liked to tell the workers at the coffee shop. This earned her a real smile. Lexa nodded, heading out the door.

The first man was sitting against the tree outside the coffee shop. He had with him a carboard with a positive message, something to drink, and a bag with three sugar cookies, heart-shaped, with pink icing. They were in a sandwich bag so he could save them for later. His crossed ankles were all scratched, as if he had run through some sharp brush. Lexa crouched down beside him, offering from the box. He chose the Boston cream.

The second man was laying on his side on the bare pavement, with not so much as a scrap of cardboard to cushion him. His cup had fallen over. He was snoozing. Lexa offered extra quietly, in case he simply wanted to rest, or was on opioids. He chose the vanilla sprinkle.

The third man was sitting with several packs and his dog. He had enough water for his dog in the bowl (Lexa had noted this on the way up) and a piece of cardboard to sit on. He chose a chocolate dip for himself. Lexa persuaded him to take the honey cruller for his dog, whose name was Sadie.

The fourth girl was anxiously pacing about the entrance to the subway, looking wildly around. She said "Fuck you, cunt, I don't need your fucking treats." Oh well. Hers had already gone to a bitch, and actual bitch, with a palate for honey crullers.

The fifth man was a bus driver. He just looked like he needed one. He took the apple fritter.

The sixth man was Lewis, who was a Vietnam vet, who was in the dumpster, collecting bottles. He liked to collect recyclables and give the money to the children's hospital. For his service, Lexa gave him the birthday cake-flavored one, and the time of day. Lewis could talk for a mile a minute about the shit he had seen, the shit others didn't see, how people glued themselves to their smartphones instead of actually bothering to look or help with the difficult situations surrounding them. The concierge lit a cigarette, and Lewis had one, which he reverently stowed into the top pouch of his backpack. Lexa listened, and listened, until the cigarette was gone. Then, she would excuse herself to her duty, and shake Lewis' hand, and thank him for his service. Lewis always was understanding, even if Lexa was the only person who listened to him that day. Lewis got Lexa, because they had both been through a war. In parting, she told him to keep surviving, and thanked him, once more, for his service.

Back to her duties, she went. Today was a day where, though she prayed and meditated on her patrols, it was hard to keep her mind from wandering to Clarke and Titus, to the cyclist, and to Lewis, who desperately needed some new pants.

By 1815, Lexa was exhausted. It pained her when her people disliked each-other; when they fought. Especially the cyclist and the thief, who were one in the same. The same species, even. Two people, simply out to survive, and to enjoy it if and when they could. She had to excuse herself for a walk as soon as she found relief for the front desk, which came at 1930.

Removing her tactical belt and blazer, leaving her keys to the building and her work phone behind, Lexa sparked up a cigarette and walked onto the concourse, unguarded. She just needed to do it. The city had quieted by now, as the commuters had rushed from the city and taken all of their worries about their careers with them. Her people were calmer; either walking down the sidewalks to go to a dinner with an old friend, or a yoga class, or to the library, or to start or leave shift-work.

Inhaling and exhaling, Lexa strolled her perimeter, and in each person in her field of view, she saw one of her own. She walked the exterior of the building, inhaling and exhaling the tobacco until her route brought her back around to the front of the building.

She now stood before her Memorial. The bunch of flowers was still beautiful, all dried out, but it had been knocked askance, perhaps by the wind or by a hurried commuter. She reached out to straighten it, and to gently pull the white ribbon back into its original bow. She took the last drag of her cigarette and dropped it, crushing it into the sidewalk. She felt clear once again.

An intuition hit her. Turning slightly and glancing up to the sixth floor. She saw Clarke's face in the window, watching her. She supposed she would have to get used to that from now on, so she blew a small kiss to the woman, and returned inside.


	37. Oh Shiiiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by everybody's response to the last chapter.

Miller saw Lexa, when she returned to the back office, and raised his eyebrows. 

“You look tired! Wanna get out for some fresh air, Lex?” He asked as he rose from the swivel chair, patting his blazer for a lighter. 

“I just did. I don’t need another one,” Lexa responded as she sifted absently through their inbox. She didn’t know what she was staring at. Permits, of some sort, to be processed. Miller landed a gentle punch to her shoulder, snapping her from her stupor. 

“I meant to catch up, you dummy.”

“Oh. Well—“

“Lex… Lex.”

“I could stand outside with you, and not smoke,” Lexa decided. She seemed to be in the mood for justification today. 

“Yeah… You know how that works out,” Miller grinned. 

“We should quit…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

The shared a guffaw. It was golden. With all they had been through together, they would be smoking buddies til the end; Lexa was certain of this. Seeing Miller without a lighter, she reached into her pocket to show him hers. “We could separate the smoking habit from the nicotine addiction if we switched to vaping, and used nicotine replacement products,” she theorized as they strolled to the back. 

“Go on, nerd.”

“But studies have shown that vaping can can contribute to popcorn lung, which is in most cases a workplace injury…”

“So you’re saying we could get compensated for this shit, is what I’m hearing.”

“In a roundabout way… I should bring it up to head office.”

“I think you should not.”

“Well, in my experience—“

“Lex. Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Dusk settled on them, now. They lit up by the smoker’s post and took their first drag, each descending into a relieved and thoughtful silence. They continued like this for several moments. 

“So, the Blonde…”

“Her name is Clarke Griffin.”

“So, Clarke Griffin…”

Lexa opted for mutism. Miller had to prompt her with an elbow. 

“Titus went to bite her, and he bit me instead, and I told her I love her, and we haven’t spoken since.”

“Wait. What?”

Lexa glanced to the fellow, pursing her lips, about to begin again as she endured Miller’s incredulous stare.

“My dog almost—“

“I heard you, dummy. So what happened?” Miller wanted to know. Remembering her battle wound, Lexa quickly shoved up the sleeve of her blazer, wrinkling it, and unbuttoned her cuff to show Miller the four holes on her right forearm. 

“Holy… Oh fuck!” Miller exclaimed, staggering backwards. He was loud and expressive, but he was still her friend. It worried her when she concerned him with her injuries, but she knew that was because they were both completely ready to die for one another. It was just how they were. 

“Yeah. Fuck is right. I caught the bite.”

“Damn, Lexa. Sorry. I know that dog is your world…”

Lexa exhaled a plume of smoke, looking Miller in the eye, bereft. “Thanks,” she said simply. Emphatically. 

“And you… what? You told her you love her?”

“Yeah. When it happened. Long story. Don’t want to get into it.”

“Fair enough. But what happened after?” Miller got it. Lexa took a drag, grimacing. 

“I uh… I didn’t say anything further to her about it,” Lexa recalled guiltily. “I suppose I have been hiding today,” she reflected, realizing this for the first time. 

“ _Ohhh shiiiet_ ,” Miller commented.

“ _Ohhh shiiiet_ ,” Lexa agreed. 

Miller drew an imaginary pistol, firing it at Lexa playfully. “ _Pow! Pow!_ ”

“Yeah,” Lexa concludes. “Anyways. Have the engineers said anything else about that huge power outage they caused when they were testing the backup generator? Because that thing went and fucking failed. And let me tell you. Shit was wild. Every door without a manual lock. Unlocked. Not secure. I was losing my shit.”

“But you had your tac belt, right?”

“Yeah, thank god for that thing.”

“Good.”

They took their last drags simultaneously, each crushing them into the ashtray in turn. “Well. Back to work,” Lexa opted.

“Yup,” Miller agreed. They strode around the front of the building in silence, easily falling into step with one another. “Lex,” Miller said before they entered the building, searching for Lexa’s eye contact til he found a small glimpse of it. “I know you’re scared shitless, but you gotta talk to your girl.”

Lexa drew a composing breath. Miller thumped her heartily on the shoulder. 

“Ow,” Lexa said, though she didn’t really mind. 

“See ya, angry lesbian.”

“See ya, meathead.”


	38. Hello, I Love You (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drawing this work to a close, guys. The continuation of this story is titled New Rules. It's already started: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834159/chapters/62761843

Lexa was antsy. Before going for her last patrol, she lit a cigarette for one last circut around the building. Music thumped from across the street. It was Friday night, which was her favorite night to work next to Saturday night, which now belonged to Clarke. For one who didn't enjoy partying unless completely loaded on liquor and stimulants, she loved the thrum of the nightlife. Working it. Reminded her of her bouncing days. Up ahead of her, she saw a pair gamboling about. One skipped across Tondc street, causing a car to slow to a halt. The other followed suit. The jaywalkers. 

Sizing people up was something that came naturally to Lexa. She couldn't help herself; it was instinct. She could take them, she decided. But, they were not on the property. The guard found herself lingering, raising the cigarette for another drag. Then, she remembered. Her new principles. And Clarke. Exhaling slowly, she dropped her smoke, stubbing the remaining half out with her toe. The pair ambled toward her. They were in a good mood. The girl paused to chatter excitedly to her. Lexa listened quietly, and bade them a good and safe night. Then, she did her last patrol. 

* * *

At 2325, Lexa turned the key in her lock. She had to brace herself; it was hard not coming home to Titus. He was where he needed to be, now, she told herself. There was a time when she couldn't fathom entrusting Titus' care to anyone else. Clarke had come close, then the incident had happened. Without thinking, Lexa closed her eyes, saying a brief prayer for Titus and Anya. Everything would be okay, she told herself. 

Pushing the door open, she realized she had left the lights on. Had she really been that absent? Was she losing her grip? Dread coiled in her stomach as she heard the kitchen sink running. Frozen on the spot, she scanned the floor for signs of a flood. The sound of the running water stopped.

Then, she spotted Clarke's shoes, and bag. 

_Fuck._

Steadying herself she proceeded inside, retrieving her keys from the door and hanging them right on the hook. "Clarke?" She called into her inner sanctum. Clarke appeared in the hallway. Her arms were crossing over her chest, her affect flat, breathing steadily. This wasn't good. 

"Yeah. Hi," The blonde responded, her voice quiet, and slightly furious. "Were you even going to tell me where Titus is?"

"He went," Lexa replied, removing her pack, her arms wooden. She couldn't look at Clarke's eyes anymore. "To training." She toed off her shoes, placing them in the rack. "At Anya's place." She hung her pack up, remembering to take her lunch kit out. Cowed, Lexa made for the kitchen. Clarke blocked her path. 

"Lexa, can I just ask... What the hell?"

"I needed time to think."

"Not even a single goddamn text telling me you're okay?"

"You know I'm alive. We work in the same building."

"You told me you loved me and you just fucked off?"

"I wasn't lying."

"Well, I figured that much, but come on, Lexa."

"It was too many texts. Eleven texts. I was afraid to read them." Lexa was, of course, referring to the eleven unread messages from Clarke on her phone. 

"So you just... Ignored me?"

"I had things to figure out." Licking her lips and raising her gaze at last, she eyed Clarke. "Too much to process. I had to figure out what to do." Clarke's expression softened. 

" _Lexa._ You can't go doing that shit to me," the blonde told her. "Just... ghost like that. For four whole days."

"I can; I did."

"Well, you were kind of a dick about it. And you shouldn't be."

Lexa pursed her lips, blowing a long sigh through them as her gaze fell to the laminate again. She knew Clarke had a point. How could she go about making this right? The words came slowly. But she remembered, without prompting. Just with patience. 

“I’m sorry. For doing that. To you.”

“I know, Lex. I get it. I’m sorry if I freaked you out. Any more than you already were.”

“Freaking out is kind of my deal...”

“It’s both our deals, let’s face it.”

“I still love you, though.”

“I love you too, Lexa.”

“I wasn’t saying it to force you to go into the—“

“Shut up, Lexa.”

This is where she kissed Clarke. And Clarke kissed her back. Lexa's hand crept up to the nape of Clarke's neck, tracing fondly through the soft, wispy hairs before finding it's way up to the thick, healthy curls at the bottom of Clarke's crown. A hand snuck up, overlapping hers, closing the fingers hard around Clarke's hair, snagging it. Lexa had to break the kiss to glance unsurely into Clarke's eyes, and all she found was surety. In the back of Lexa's mind, it surfaced that they had not had sex in six days. 

Before her train of thought could continue, Clarke was pressing hard into her body, pulling her back in with a deeper kiss. Lexa's mind raced and crackled. She was overstimulating. _They_ were overstimulating. It was impulsive, perhaps, which was why Lexa had presented Clarke with the consent sheets, and insisted, anxiously, that she answer them carefully and honestly, no matter what. _Did she trust them?_ Lexa groaned as a hot tongue lathed hers. _Yes._ They could go slowly. Lexa knew how. It was all she could do, really. 

Reaching a hand down the small of Clarke's back, Lexa palmed the younger woman's ass, pressing their hips closer. The blonde ground encouragingly against her. Lexa felt a twinge in her clit. They were shuffling toward the bedroom, bit by bit. She felt Clarke push down on her shoulders, experimentally, causing her to stiffen, and she paused the kiss. Lexa staggered momentarily under the artist's weight as Clarke wrapped both thighs around her hipbones with a light hop, before pressing another sound kiss to Lexa's mouth.

"I shouldn't be rewarding you," Clarke whispered knowingly into the shell of Lexa's ear, her arms folded around the brunette's head.

"I don't really give a fuck," Lexa couldn't help but reply.

“I said, shut up,” Clarke whispered against her lips. The backs of Lexa's knees were touching the edge of the bed. Sitting them down, Lexa hummed into the kiss as Clarke ground on her lap, slowly nursing up a well of need within her. Clarke was pushing again, so Lexa reclined slowly, which was a difficult order to manage as they tore frustratedly at Lexa's clothes, and then Clarke's. 

Only then did she remember what had come in the mail, and she had thoughtlessly washed and put away, too taken with graver matters to think about.

"Clarke, open the bottom drawer." She was, of course referring to the dresser which contained the new strapless strapon and harness. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she watched Clarke discover it, taking a moment to appreciate the blonde's figure, even in the plain bra and panties that she had worn over to Lexa's place. "Red, yellow, green?" She asked, unsurety again entering her voice.

"Green," Clarke decided. "Tap me if it's too much?"

"Tap you if it's too much."

"How do you get this thing on," Clarke wanted to know as she returned to the bed with the toy and the brief harness. It was meant for Lexa, they both understood. Pushing herself up further, Lexa allowed Clarke to help her out of her dampening boy shorts.

"Start with one finger," Lexa decided, her moan muffled by another kiss as Clarke mounted her again, her dextrous fingers creeping south until they parted Lexa's folds, carefully avoiding her swelling clit. The guard bit her lip, huffing and collapsing slowly back onto the bed as Clarke gently worked a finger in and out of her. That, in itself, felt sublime. Lexa was so wet. But, there was something she had forgotten.

"Lube. In the drawer." She squeaked hoarsely at the loss of Clarke's lone finger. When Clarke came back with the necessary supplies, Lexa wanted two of them. "Now, two..."

Again, the blonde took her to a fresh level of bliss, easing two fingers in, and then out again, repeating until Lexa was bucking and squirming beneath her. Pawing blindly at the bedspread, Lexa grabbed the toy and the harness in one hand and Clarke allowed her up, to push herself up the bed and apply a generous amount of lube to the base of the toy, letting it warm in her hand. In short, however clumsy order, she had the toy seated in her and the harness trapping it snug in her body. Relaxing against the pillows, Lexa lubed the shaft of the dildo, motioning for Clarke to straddle her again.

Shucking off her panties and writhing out of her bra, the blonde followed. They got Lexa out of her sports bra, and Clarke fell upon her, lavishing her taut nipples with a gentle tongue. "Can't talk," Lexa groaned in brief warning.

"It's okay," Came Clarke's reassuring purr against her breast. The next sound coming from Lexa was a throaty whine. "Be okay." Helpless to do anything else, Lexa nodded, her hands finding Clarke's supple breasts. This was more than okay. The blonde sat up, discovering, with a groan, that it felt very good for both of them when she ground her folds against the shaft of the toy, trapping the seat up against Lexa's clit. With her gentle weight rested upon the older woman, Clarke readied herself until she was open enough that she could lean up and they could work the tip slowly inside her. Lexa watched, transfixed, as the woman above her slowly eased herself onto the toy until it was hilted within her. That made Lexa whine.

Then, Clarke moved. Fast. On top of Lexa, whose hips surged up to match the younger woman's pace. Groaning, Lexa's fingers found the soft rounds of Clarke's hips, digging harder into them. Clarke moaned and nodded. Her breasts bounced as she rode Lexa hard. The sight alone was almost too much for Lexa. She slammed her eyes shut, sucking in a breath of air. The brunette's hips bucked and bucked and she couldn't stop them, even if she wanted to. Her clit was swelling against the saddle of the toy, and it felt exquisite. Clarke felt exquisite. She could feel her with every little shift of the toy within her.

Clarke steadied herself with one arm above Lexa's shoulder, and with the other one, she dragged her fingernails across Lexa's chest, gently at first, and then a little more firmly. "That's it, Lexa, fuck me hard," she murmured breathlessly, and the guard was done for. Her hands raced up to paw at Clarke's breasts, and the blonde groaned appreciatively at the firm touch. Lexa didn't have to open her eyes to know her upper body and the insides of her thighs were probably spattered in watercolor pink. She was so sensitized. So turned on.

The blood began to pound in Lexa's ears as she pushed up into Clarke and the blonde slammed down onto her, leaning down and pouring a filthy litany of words, punctuated by kisses, against the brunette's hot cheek. It caused Lexa to twist a little, in her passion, her breaths growing shallow, her grip still tight on Clarke's hips. _She had to remember to breathe._ This time it was Clarke who had to remind her. Lexa's pleasure would rise so fast at times that she had to stop and throttle herself back, drinking in oxygen before continuing the climb. Hoarse whimpers escaped her here and there. 

Lexa knew she was exhausting herself. The muscles of her abdomen began to feel rubbery, and she grew increasingly sensitized between her legs, soon to be at the point of pain. With a grunt, she began to shove at Clarke's hips, encouraging the woman off her, but she did not tap. As Clarke scrambled to comply, confused, Lexa urged her onto her elbows and knees, coming up behind her and entering her once more, slowly, before returning to their brisk pace. This felt right. Clarke's toes were curling. Lexa slipped a hand down past Clarke’s navel to rub either side of her clit, while the other stayed planted on the mattress for stability. Her straining nipples pressed into Clarke’s back as Lexa tucked her chin over her shoulder, panting into her ear. 

The blonde yelped and cried her name-- _Loudly_ as she pulsed around the cock. The headboard banged against the wall. The neighbors would hear. They didn't care. Clarke stiffened, beautiful back arched, quivering, muffling beautiful sounds into the pillow. It was sublime. It was all Lexa needed. "C---," Lexa managed between huffs. For a long time, she panted rhythmically as white-hot ecstasy raced through her body, continuing through to her fingers and toes. The harness briefs grew more sodden, and she felt a trickle of fluid down the inside of her thigh. 

_Damn._

Later, as they lay boneless lay against each other bed, forehead to damp forehead, each in their own quiet reflection, Lexa spoke up. 

“Clarke?”

“Mmm?” Clarke inquired as she traced the lines of Lexa’s ravens idly. 

“I’m sorry I hid that from you. That I love you. I was so nervous about it, I think I even hid it from myself...”

“Lexa, that’s totally okay” Clarke assured, squeezing the fingers wound around her other hand. “That’s totally normal, for a lot of people actually.”

“I know. Well. I just strive to be real for you.”

“And it gives me butterflies.”

“Clarke, do you want to know a secret?”

“What, Lex?”

“I loved you from the minute you were stuck in the elevator.”

_ End Part 1 _


End file.
